Butterflies
by ArtisticRainey
Summary: *COMPLETE.* "Nothing stays the same forever." It's 2069 and lots of changes are happening on Tracy Island. The family is growing and so too is the IR crew. However, for one brother, a life-altering incident will mean that things will never be the same again. Rated T for bad language and difficult themes. **Not an OC-centric fic.**
1. Incoming

Nothing stays the same forever. Rock erodes. Stars die. Change is inevitable, painful, brutal. But change isn't always a bad thing. After all, without it we would never see the splendour of a sunrise or the beauty of a sunset.

Or the miracle of butterflies.

 **~oOo~**

Jeff Tracy sat back and sighed. He gripped the arms of his desk chair and shook his head. It was inevitable, but that didn't make him feel much better about it. He glanced at the calendar. January 7th, 2069. It was the day International Rescue would change forever.

His fingertips tapped the dark brown leather. Deep down, he knew that this was for the best. The outfit had been operating for just shy of four years and in that time, they had achieved so much. Jeff's chest swelled with pride as each victory passed before his eyes. Hundreds of disasters averted, countless lives saved.

Yet a shadow crossed his heart and he gripped the arms again. The victory had not come without cost. There had been injuries, near-death experiences. Scott had been shot down over the desert. Virgil had nearly perished after Thunderbird Two was targeted by the Sentinel. He had nearly lost Alan and his mother at Parola Sands. There had been near-misses with all of them - except John, safely cocooned in Thunderbird Five. Each incident had shaved another year off Jeff Tracy's life, he was sure of it.

When he had first broached the subject of International Rescue with his boys, he had been frank; there would be sacrifices to be made. Yet not one of them had complained. Now that the operation was in full-swing, Jeff knew that it was time to give something back to his sons, after they had given so much to the world.

What could he give them, the boys who had everything?

The answer was simple: time.

"Penny for them?"

Jeff jerked out of his thoughts and smiled.

"Ah, Scott. Good morning. I was just thinking, that's all."

His eldest perched on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. The hair at Scott's temples was starting to grey. There were more lines around his eyes, but his smile had never dimmed.

"It does feel strange," he said. "We've been so closely guarded for years. It's weird to think we're about to let someone new in on the secret."

Jeff nodded, rolling his response over in his mind before speaking.

"Agreed. I know that I've done countless security and background checks. I know that I've chosen the right people. I know that what I'm doing is the _right thing_. It's just...a very strange feeling."

"Yeah. But good. For all of us. A lot has changed since we started International Rescue. Speaking of which, what's Alan and Tin-Tin's ETA?"

"They should be arriving with their cargo around one-thirty," Jeff said. "And Tin-Tin has her appointment at," he glanced at his watch, "around now, actually."

Scott whistled and shook his head.

"I still can't believe it. Alan, a father?"

Jeff chuckled and pushed himself onto his feet.

"I know. Far too young for that sort of responsibility." Scott opened his mouth to speak but Jeff waved him off. "Though, I'll thank you not to point out that he's responsible enough to pilot a Thunderbird. In my head, he's still the eighteen year old who shattered all the windows at Colorado University." He shook his head. "At least Tin-Tin has a sensible head on her shoulders."

He walked towards the door; Scott followed.

"So how does it feel, _Grandpa_?" Scott asked, giving his father a sidelong glance.

"Don't you start with that," Jeff groused. "There's still six months or so before that title becomes official. Six months until I start feeling old." Despite his words, he could not help but grin.

"How do you think Grandma feels?" Scott asked as they descended to the kitchen.

"Younger than I do, probably!" Jeff shook his head again and huffed out a breath. "Alan a father, me a grandfather, Mother a _great_ -grandmother... I need some coffee, now!"

 **~oOo~**

The only way to describe it was like walking on air. Tin-Tin clutched the holocard of her first scan to her chest and grinned again. _I am so lucky! I can't wait to show Father and Mr Tracy - or Jeff, as he wants me to call him now!_

"Tin-Tin, keep smiling like that and people will think you're crazy!" Alan said as he slung an arm around his fiancée's shoulders.

They were walking from the stacker where Alan had left the hire car towards Wellington's shopping district. At last the shop windows were being cleared of Christmas merchandise - which had never fitted in with the baking heat and endless sunshine of a New Zealand summer, anyway.

"Oh, Alan, I don't care if the whole world knows how happy I am. We're having a baby!"

Alan squeezed her shoulders a little tighter and shook his head.

"Gee, I know we've just seen the scan but it still doesn't feel quite real."

"It feels real enough for me," Tin-Tin said, patting her abdomen and looking at the holocard again. "It's all so amazing." She glanced at her watch. "Come on, we have a little time to spare. Let's find a cafe and sit down for a while."

"Sure thing," Alan said. "But no caffeine for you!"

Tin-Tin rolled her eyes.

"Don't remind me," she said. "I don't know how I'll survive!"

They ducked in to one of their usual haunts - the sort of cafe with a mismatch of bright colours and album covers on the walls - and Tin-Tin resigned herself to drinking an iced fruit tea. She sat back on one of the plush sofas and sighed as the air-con washed over her.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Alan spoke.

"I wonder what they're like in person," he said as he idly stirred his drink. It was something ridiculously sweet as usual, more sugar than coffee.

"I imagine they'll be just fine," Tin-Tin said. "I'm most worried about trying to tell them apart. From the pictures, they do look truly identical."

"Yeah. The logistics could be tricky, but I guess it reduces the risk of outsiders finding out about us, what with them being from the same family. And at least they'll be colour coded!"

Tin-Tin chuckled.

"Yes, as long as you remember which brother is which colour. Is Elijah red and Matthew green, or vice-versa?"

Alan gave her a flat look.

"I had not considered that," he said. "I told Dad he should have recruited some more women!"

Tin-Tin seized her opportunity and pasted a hurt look on her face.

"You did? Oh, Alan, am I not good enough for you? Oh, woe!"

Alan went to flick her ear but she was too quick for him. They dissolved into giggles.

"I wasn't thinking for me," Alan said at length, wiping his eyes. "More for the boys. Dad wants us to have time to live our lives. They haven't been as lucky as me when it comes to love."

"Charmer," Tin-Tin said.

They leaned into embrace. Tin-Tin lingered in his arms for a while. Sadly. It wasn't long before they had to leave. Tin-Tin steeled herself for the heat again, before stepping out into the sunlight and off to collect International Rescue's newest recruits.

 **~oOo~**

It almost felt like Christmas all over again. Everyone had gathered in the lounge and Gordon had perched himself on the piano bench beside Virgil.

"I hope they like me," he said, putting on his best panicked voice. "Do you think they'll like me? What if they don't? Oh!"

Virgil shook his head and tried to shove Gordon onto the floor. The ex-Olympian was too sturdy to shift.

"Knock it off," Virgil said, though there was a smile in his voice. "None of _us_ like you anyway, so if they didn't, what difference would it make?"

Gordon schooled his face into his most aghast expression and leaned back, placing a hand on his chest and mouthing, _what_? Virgil shook his head and ran his fingers up the keys of his baby grand.

"Do me a favour and lay off the pranks until they're settled in, okay? It's taken nearly a year to get them here. I don't think Dad would appreciate you scaring them off so soon."

"Ah, relax," Gordon said. He reached for one of the keys but Virgil swatted his hand away. "I haven't got anything planned...for at least a week."

"Gordon!"

"Kidding, kidding."

He pushed himself to his feet and, with lightning speed, jabbed at one of the keys and ran. He chuckled and stuck out his tongue as Virgil shook his fist.

Gordon came to a stop at Scott's side and grinned. His eldest brother was leaning against one of the pillars, surveying the family around him. Gordon followed his gaze from Jeff and Kyrano, deep in soon-to-be-grandfather talk, to Grandma rearranging the glasses on the coffee table for what was probably the seventh time.

"Feels weird," Gordon said.

"Yeah, it does," Scott replied. "But not bad."

"So what kind of training programme have you devised for our new recruits?" Gordon asked, rubbing his hands together. "Jumping through flaming hoops? Walking a tightrope over a pool of piranhas? Listening to Alan talk about his racing career without falling asleep?"

Scott chuckled.

"Something like that," he said.

" _Base from Ladybird_."

The room fell silent as Jeff answered the call.

"Go ahead, Ladybird."

" _We're coming in to land now_ ," Tin-Tin said.

"I trust you have our guests?" Jeff asked.

" _All present and correct, Father_ ," Alan said.

"FAB. See you soon."

The comm clicked off. All eyes were on Jeff; Gordon gave his father a nod.

"So it begins," the red-head said. Then he patted himself down. "Now where did I leave my fake spider?"

" _Gordon_!"


	2. Arrival

This was it. This was the moment. All eyes swung to the door as four figures entered.

"Tin-Tin, darling, how did it go? Is everything all right?"

Jeff smiled as his mother rushed over to the young woman. A well-meaning struggle ensued, for Tin-Tin would not let the older woman take her bag.

"Grandma, it's fine," she said. "I can manage my purse!"

"I know you _can_ , child," Grandma said, keeping a firm grip on the bag. "But that doesn't mean you _should_. You've got to protect that precious darling in there. It's my only great-grandchild, after all. Do you know if it's a girl or a boy? No! Scratch that, I don't want to know. I want it to be a surprise!"

Chuckling, Jeff watched as his eighty-four year old mother ushered Tin-Tin to the couch, fussing and clucking. It brought back fond memories of Lucy receiving the same treatment – five times over.

Then he turned his attention to the new arrivals.

Elijah and Matthew Lynch stood side by side, each one a mirror image of the other. They were tall, easily over six feet, with identical shocks of bright red hair on their heads and a smattering of dark freckles across their pale faces. Alan gestured for them to follow him.

"Father," he said, "here they are."

Jeff stepped forward and shook each man by the hand; their grips were strong.

"Good to meet you again," he said.

"And you, sir," the one on the left said. The one on the right nodded.

Jeff looked from one to the other.

"You'll forgive us if we confuse the two of you initially," he said. It was a more tactful way of saying, _I don't know who is who_! "You are quite identical."

"No worries, sir," the one on the left said again. "We're well used to it. I'm Matthew and he's Elijah. We can wear name badges if you like."

He grinned widely. Jeff shook his head but smiled.

"I hope that won't be necessary. Welcome to Tracy Island." He turned to face the rest of the family. "Some of these faces may be familiar. My eldest, Scott, you met during the interview process."

Scott waved and stepped forward to shake their hands.

"Good to meet you again," he said.

"And you."

It was Matthew who spoke again. Elijah remained silent, but was smiling.

"There'll be time later to meet the rest," Jeff said. "For now, Scott will take you to stow your bags in the Cliff House. Part of it has been converted into an apartment for you."

"This way," Scott said, heading towards the monorail that would take them through Thunderbird Two's hangar.

The three disappeared and Jeff found his mother bobbing at his shoulder.

"You didn't even let them have a drink first," she said, her grey brows drawn low as she gestured to the coffee table, resplendent with an array of light snacks and beverages.

"Well, they aren't here for a vacation, Mother," Jeff said. "But don't worry. I won't go too hard on them...today."

"Land's sakes!" his mother said, giving him a sharp prod in the ribs.

" _Mother_!"

 **~oOo~**

Gordon flopped down beside Tin-Tin as Scott ushered the two new recruits to their new home.

"So tell me. It's got four wheels and a helmet already, right?"

Tin-Tin shook her head and laughed.

"No, Gordon. Don't be so silly. No wheels. Everything seems to be perfectly fine."

"Boy or girl?" Gordon asked, slinging his arm over the back of the couch.

"We didn't ask," Tin-Tin said.

Alan joined them and swiped a cookie from one of the snack plates.

"We don't want to know," he said as he perched on the couch arm. He popped the treat in his mouth. "We want it to be a surprise."

Gordon pretended to brush crumbs from his face. But when Tin-Tin produced the holocard with the scan on it, all jesting disappeared.

"Oh, wow," he said. "That is just... That's my niece right there!"

"Or nephew," Alan said around his cookie.

"Nah, it'll be a girl," Gordon said. He tapped his chest. "I can feel it in here."

The presence of the holocard drew a crowd and it was passed from one proud family member to another, eventually ending up in Gordon's hands again. He drank in the detail of the holographic image, every little curve and shape. _I still can't quite believe it_ , he thought.

He handed the card back to Tin-Tin again and squeezed her shoulder.

"Awesome," he said.

Tin-Tin grinned anew.

"I know. I can't wait to tell Brains. Where is he, anyway?"

"R-right here, Tin-Tin," a voice called from behind the crowd.

"Brains! Oh, do come and sit with me. Look, it's my baby!"

The engineer made his way through the tangle of Tracys and Gordon watched the emotions that played over his face as he saw the scan. There was joy, of course, but there was also an almost undetectable tinge of sadness. Gordon felt his heart lurch. He had suspected for years that Brains had hoped his relationship with Tin-Tin could blossom into something more. Sadly for him, Alan had always had her affection. _She never had eyes for any of the rest of us_ , Gordon thought. _Alan doesn't know how lucky he is._

To his credit, Brains did not betray his feelings and congratulated the happy couple with genuine warmth. Gordon made a note to commiserate with Brains later.

The family settled into comfortable conversation and, as much as she tried, Grandma could not stop her grandsons - and son - from devouring the snacks. By the time Scott and his twin charges returned, there was not much left.

Tin-Tin waved the holocard again and Gordon hopped up, gesturing for Scott to sit and take his turn admiring his new niece or nephew, and made a bee-line for the twins.

"Fellow red-heads, I see," he said.

"The best colour," one of them replied. Before Gordon could ask his question, he got his response. "I'm Matthew - Matt if you prefer. And this is my brother, Elijah."

Gordon looked from one to the other and blinked.

"You're brothers? Really? I would never have guessed!"

Matthew shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets.

"It's been commented on a few times. Personally, I don't see it."

Gordon snorted.

"Oh, not just a fellow red-head but a fellow funny guy, too?" He rubbed his hands together. "This could prove interesting." He turned to the other twin. "Are you one of us?"

Elijah shook his head.

"No. I'm always the straight man to his funny guy," he said.

His voice was a touch softer than his brother's. Gordon looked from one to the other. They looked identical down to the last freckle.

"Well, you're welcome anyway. I'm Gordon, the dashing aquanaut of the crew. Which one of you is the nurse and which one's the firefighter? And where are you guys from, anyway? Do I detect a hint of the Emerald Isle?"

"I'm the firefighter," Matthew said. He jerked his finger at Elijah. "He's the nurse. And yeah, we're from Ireland - stereotypical, I know, what with us being freckled gingers. But we can't change our genes."

Gordon held up his hands.

"Hey, I'm not judging."

Matthew surveyed the gaggle of gathered family and shook his head.

"So you all live together on an island - three generations, including five brothers - and you're telling me there _hasn't_ been a murder?"

Gordon shrugged.

"Not yet, anyway. And it'll soon be four generations. The first great-grand-Tracy is on the way. Oh, and there are usually only four brothers here. John spends most of his time on the space station. It wasn't supposed to be that way but someone -" he gestured towards Alan, though when caught changed his point to a wave "- manages to wriggle out of a lot of his duty."

"I think that's to be part of my job," Matthew said. "I'll be taking shifts up there once I'm trained."

"One in three months with you in space?" Elijah asked. "It'll be heaven."

Gordon grinned and slapped the man on his back. Elijah did not flinch.

"Ah, not such a straight man after all," Gordon said, giving him a wink.

"He's one of those quiet ones," Matthew quipped. "I'd watch out for him."

"And I'd watch out for him," Elijah said, poking his brother's arm.

"Well, you should both look out for _him_ ," a new voice said.

Virgil had extricated himself from the congratulations. Gordon put on his mock-offended face again but Virgil merely rolled his eyes, then shook both men's hands.

"Virgil Tracy. Nice to meet you."

"And you."

"So you'll be completing some of your training with me," he said. "You'll primarily act as my double or triple crew, depending on the emergency, so you'll need to know your way around Thunderbird Two and the pod vehicles."

Matthew blew out a slow breath and shook his head.

"Part of me still can't believe we're actually here," he said. "It's so surreal."

"Once Scott starts putting you through your paces, it'll seem real enough," Virgil said.

Gordon crossed his arms, schooling his face to be as serious as possible.

"They probably didn't tell you this, but he made the last recruit curl up into a ball and cry."

Virgil shook his head. Matthew was in before he could respond.

"Well, he'll have his work cut out to break the Lynch boys," he said. "There isn't much we haven't already been through"

There was mirth in his voice, but it didn't reach his eyes. Elijah nodded, his green eyes equally somber. Gordon shot his brother a quick glance; Virgil gave him a tiny shrug. _I wonder what that means_ , Gordon thought. _Strange indeed_.


	3. Contemplation

"All right, take care, Tin-Tin! And congrats again!"

"Thanks, John. See you very soon!"

The comm channel clicked off and John Tracy sat back in his chair.

"I still can't believe Alan is going to be a father," he said to the empty room.

The monitors responded in their usual way with beeps and whirrs, underscored by the constant babble of thousands of transmissions. John stood up and stretched, standing on his toes and reaching for the metal ceiling.

"I can't wait to get back down to Earth again," he said. "I want to see that holocard in person!"

Rolling the tension from his shoulders, John made his way to Thunderbirds Five's small galley and started preparing supper, if he could call coffee and cookies that. After six weeks in space, he wasn't up to making much else.

Much as he loved his job and his Thunderbird, the long stints drained him. This one had been particularly hard for a number of reasons. One, he had missed Christmas and New Years at home - _again_. Two, he had missed out on the pregnancy announcement and found out after everyone else via satellite link. _That smarted_ , he thought. _But I guess it was unavoidable. Not point in being sore about it_. And three, he had been forced to extend his tour by a week on either side to accommodate Alan, first for a meet up with some old racing buddies and then for the pregnancy scan.

"That boy is lucky I'm such a nice guy," John said as he dumped freeze-dried coffee into a thermos mug. "I just can't say no to him. But I guess things won't be so bad once it's a three-way rotation."

He huffed out another breath. That was another thing that irritated him; he had missed out on the arrival of the new recruits. He knew it was childish and he knew it was pathetic, but part of him couldn't help but feel left out.

"Sometimes it seems that everyone else is getting on with their lives and I'm being left behind." He stirred his coffee and shook his head. "Stop being so tragic, Tracy. There's plenty going on if your life, too."

It was true. In two weeks' time, he would be presenting his latest research on non-baryonic dark matter at the University of Cambridge. Now known as one of the pioneers in the field – due to the fact he could dedicate so much time to studying the damn stuff – if the lecture went well, it could lead to a whole tour.

"And that would be something!" he said. "Alan could pay back for all those favours I've done for him and let me be the one gallivanting off around the world for once."

Coffee in hand, John made his way back to the control room and settled back into his chair. He picked up a nearby tablet and resumed work on the lecture. No doubt, he would continue to tweak and adjust his work until the night before. _It needs to be perfect_ , he said. _Cambridge is a big gig!_ All the while, though, he kept an ear tuned in to the background noise. It proved to be a quiet evening.

The next time he looked at his watch it was ten-thirty, and he only did that because the comm line from the island was beeping.

"I wonder who wants little ol' me?" he asked as he set his tablet aside. "Thunderbird Five here, receiving you strength Five. Go ahead."

"Hello, is that Nerds-are-Us?" a familiar voice said. "I'm looking for a giant egghead."

John shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Good evening, Gordon," he said.

Gordon winked at his brother. From the scene in the background, it seemed that he was sitting at their father's desk.

"What up, brah?" the red-head asked.

John sipped his coffee.

"Not much. Just working on my lecture."

It was Gordon's turn to roll his eyes.

"What is that, draft five thousand? The boffins at Cambridge would be impressed if you showed up in a garbage bag and a top hat, quoting Hamlet backwards. Relax, will ya?"

John tapped the tablet lightly against his head and smiled.

"It's for my own sanity, not their approval," he said. "I need to know I've done everything perfectly."

Gordon snorted.

"Nerd."

"Fish-face."

"Son of E.T."

"Merman."

"That's not even an insult," Gordon scoffed. "I'd love to be half-fish."

"Gords, you _are_ half-fish."

John set the tablet down again and propped his head up on his hand. Gordon leaned a little closer to the camera.

"You okay?" he asked.

There was no mockery in his tone now. John shrugged. The simple fact that his brother was empathetic enough to pick up on his state of mind made him feel a little better.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just feeling sorry for myself, is all. How are the new arrivals?"

"They seem okay," Gordon said. "They look identical but their personalities seem pretty different. Matthew is quite outgoing but Elijah barely said anything." He paused for a moment before a new grin appeared on his face. "You know, I'm not an expert on this kind of thing, but they do seem quite… _handsome_."

There was a pause.

"Gordon," John said, his voice low with warning. "Don't even go there."

Gordon held his hands up and tried to look as innocent as possible.

"I'm just commenting," he said.

"Well, don't," John said.

"Okay, okay. Don't get your space-pants in a twist." Mirth aside, Gordon wisely changed the subject. "Did Tin-Tin show you the holocard of the impending bundle of joy?"

John nodded and shifted in his seat.

"Yeah. Can't wait to see it properly. What's your prediction, boy or girl?"

"Totally a girl," Gordon said. "My squid-sense is tingling."

There was another pause.

"Your _what_?" John's expression could only be described as incredulous. "I did not think you could get much stranger, but you've managed to out-do even your own weirdness."

"I try, I try," Gordon said, waving a hand absently. "So what's your prediction?"

John shrugged again.

"I have no idea. I'm not good at that kind of thing. Babies are hardly my strong suit."

"Once it arrives, you might be glad of your long stints on Five," Gordon said. "Tantrums, throwing up, dirty diapers - and that'll just be Alan!"

John barked out a laugh and felt his heart warm. In their whole lives, Gordon had never failed to cheer him up.

"Good luck to him!" John said. "Rather him than me. I can't think of much worse."

The two chatted for a short while before Gordon yawned three times in a row and John ordered him to bed.

"All right, all right," he said. "I'm going. Keep up with the mother hen stuff and you'll start clucking and laying eggs."

"Yeah, yeah," John said. "I'll see you in a few days."

"See you soon, brah! Squid out."

The comm clicked off and John found himself chuckling again.

"Gordon, you are a most unique individual."

He tapped the tablet screen again. Words swirled on the screen but his mind could not settle back to work. Gordon's comment circled round and round in his mind. _They do seem quite…handsome._

It had been a long, _long_ time since John had even turned his thoughts towards such things. In some ways, he had given up on the idea of ever having a relationship. Working with International Rescue was not conducive towards having a partner – unless, of course, you were Alan and your girlfriend happened to be a permanent resident. Even worse, his job as space monitor, wherein he spent over half his time off-planet, made things even more problematic.

"No, Gords. I'm just not interested any longer. It's too difficult."

And yet.

There was a little niggle at the back of his mind. Part of the reason his father had taken on the new recruits was so his sons could have more of a life. John remembered the look of earnestness on his father's face when he had revealed his plans.

" _You boys have sacrificed your lives for International Rescue. You haven't had the chance to explore in the same way I did when I was your age_. _It's time that changed_."

It was a noble thought, and the fact that his father had taken a tremendous leap of faith and opened the operation to two strangers was admirable. _Shows how much he cares for us_ , John thought. _But I think I'll leave the partners and babies_ et al _to my brothers. I'm not cut out for it – never have been and never will be. I'll settle for being the cool uncle._

 _Nerd uncle, more like_ , Gordon's voice intruded.

"And proud of it," John said, rising. "Proud of it."

He set his lecture aside again and went to the galley to wash his mug. Then he grabbed his trusty clipboard and started analysing the data streams that Five churned out every hour on the hour.

Sleep, as always, would wait.


	4. Recollection

"Keep up the pace, gentlemen!"

In truth, they weren't flagging. It was Scott who had increased speed. He was leading International Rescue's newest members on a _gentle_ run around the island - wearing fifteen pounds of kit on their backs. Scott turned around and jogged on the spot for a moment while the twins caught up. There was a glossy sheen of sweat across their foreheads, though they weren't complaining.

"Do you treat all the new guys this way?" Matthew asked, his breathing deep but measured.

"So far, yes," Scott said, "since you're the first. Is the heat getting to you yet?"

"Nah. After living in the Central African Republic, we're used to it," Matthew replied. "It's a bit more humid here, though, I'll grant you that."

They continued their trek across the beach and up onto the foothill of one of the island's many slopes. Scott breathed in the lush scent of the tropical foliage. The slight temperature drop felt like heaven.

The terrain became steeper and Scott felt the familiar sting in his chest as his lungs were cleared of stale air. _This is the life_! he thought. He led his followers to a small clearing in the jungle and slowed his pace.

"We won't go any further," he said. "I don't want to get too far away from base, just in case there's an emergency call."

He jogged to one of the larger rocks that jutted from the ground and stretched, placing one foot on the outcrop. Matthew flopped down on to the boulder. Elijah, more demure, settled himself beside his brother and wiped his brow.

Scott reached for the straw of his camelback pack and took a long drink. The water was gloriously cool. He let out a satisfied sigh.

"How long were you in the C.A.R.?" he asked. "I remember seeing it in your file."

"Five years," Matthew said after a mouthful of water. "Five long years. We went over on a temporary aid mission and ended up staying. It was tough, but worth it."

Elijah nodded slowly. Scott watched him for a moment. _He doesn't say much_ , he thought. _Maybe that's why the other one talks all the time. I guess it makes it easier to tell them apart this way_.

Their rest didn't last much longer. After a few minutes, Scott had them back on their feet and heading back down the mountainside. He had intended to use the time to go over the training schedule in his head. However, his thoughts drifted back to the conversation that started this whole new venture.

 **~oOo~**

It had been a long time since Scott had been called to the office. As he pulled on a loose shirt and slipped into his shoes, he remembered the _first_ time he had ever been called. _Six years old and already causing trouble_! he thought as he padded along the hallway from his bedroom. _Dad was sore as hell for weeks after I put that dent in his car. What did he think would happen when he gave me a baseball bat? Sheesh!_

Arriving at the office door, he knocked twice and entered at his father's summons.

"Ah, Scott, thanks for coming. Kyrano just left us some fresh coffee."

"What's this all about, Dad?" Scott asked as he eased himself into the chair across from his father.

Jeff still maintained his command desk in the lounge, but the office had been installed to give him peace to work on Tracy Industries business. He poured his son a cup of coffee and passed it to him.

"Well," he said as he dropped two sugar lumps in his own cup, "I've been doing some serious thinking and I want your opinion before I take this any further."

Scott picked up the cream.

"Oh?" he asked.

 _This is strange. Must be something big!_

Jeff sat back in his high-backed leather chair and took a slow sip of his coffee. He placed the cup on a coaster and laced his fingers together. Scott leaned forward.

"Son, by the time I was your age, I was a married with two kids and my career had skyrocketed - literally and figuratively. I had been to the moon. I was on my way to making my first million."

Scott shook his head but smiled

"Way to make me feel inferior, Dad," he said. When Jeff looked at him with a fierce intensity, Scott's smile disappeared. "I was kidding, Dad."

"I know son, but that's part of what I mean. I'm starting to think that by setting up International Rescue, I've taken something away from you boys."

Scott had been about to take a mouthful of coffee but instead set the cup back down.

"Dad, that's not true. If anything, setting up International Rescue has enriched our lives. It certainly has for me, anyway."

Jeff nodded, his face painted with a rueful smile.

"That's good to hear, Scott. But tell me this, if I hadn't started International Rescue,me here do you think you would be right now?"

Scott brought a hand up to rub his chin.

"I guess... I guess I'd probably still be in the Air Force. That was the plan."

"And your brothers? Where would they be?"

Scott shook his head again

"Dad, where are you going with this?" Fear flashed through his blue eyes. "You're not thinking of shutting us down, are you?"

"Of course not," Jeff said. "I don't think the world could survive without us - as arrogant as that may sound."

"Agreed. So what's on your mind?"

Jeff picked up his cup and ran a finger around the rim. He took another sip.

"I've been relying on you boys to run this outfit for coming in four years now. Your whole lives are dominated by your duty. What I want to do is to take some of the pressure off and give you the opportunity to grow - if you so choose to."

"It sounds good in theory," Scott said. "But it would mean finding someone we could trust enough to bring into the fold."

"It would take time and effort," Jeff said. "We would need to be careful and rely on our agents for information. But I would like to look in to recruiting one or two more crew members to allow you boys the option to go off-island for periods of time and pursue other parts of your lives."

Scott rolled his cup between his hands as he ran the information through his mind. New members could bring serious risks... And yet there was a logic behind his father's idea.

"I can see the benefits," he said. "What sort of people did you have in mind?"

Jeff picked his glasses up and placed them in his nose, before pulling a small data tablet from one of his desk drawers.

"I'd like someone with medical training in the first instance," he said. He handed the tablet to his son. "I've made a short list of the backgrounds and qualities a recruit would ideally need."

Scott scanned the list, nodding.

"Yeah, we could do with someone with more medical knowledge than an EMT. And I agree with a lot of this. Someone from a search and rescue or firefighting background would be useful, too. I don't think you'll find all of what you need in one person, though."

"Indeed. I'd also like for whoever we bring in to have the ability to take shifts in Thunderbird Five. The idea was always that Alan and John would rotate, with you taking the occasional month, but it simply hasn't worked out that way. I know your brother doesn't mind, but I do think John wants - and needs - the opportunity to further his academic career."

Scott tapped his fingers on the edge of the tablet.

"Getting someone with that kind of experience would be trickier," he said. "Although, since Thunderbird Five operates with an anti-gravity system, it would be easier to train someone up. They wouldn't necessarily need to have done it before, so long as they were competent and confident enough to cope."

"Yes. And, ideally, I want someone who has done some kind of humanitarian work as well. It's not just the practical experience. The attitude and personality will be vital as well."

Scott handed the tablet back to his father and let out a low whistle.

"Wow. I wasn't expecting this to be our conversation," he said.

"We're you expecting a dressing down?" Jeff asked. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "As far as I remember, I don't have a car for you to dent any longer."

Scott rolled his eyes.

"I was just thinking about that earlier," he said. "I didn't think you would remember!"

"How could I forget? I had to replace the entire front wing of my Mustang! It cost a fortune."

The two men shared a laugh and Scott refilled his coffee.

"Have you spoken to any of the others about this?" he asked.

"Not yet," Jeff said. "I wanted to sound it off on you before I approached any of the rest."

Scott nodded; it made sense. He mused over the steaming cup for a moment before casting his father a curious glance.

"Dad, was there sketching specific that prompted all this?" he asked. "It seems a strange thing to just consider out of the blue."

Jeff shifted in his chair and nodded.

"I knew you would ask that," he said. "Alan came to see me a few weeks ago. He had something big to tell me."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Well, I'm sure you'll find out eventually from the two of them, but... Alan and Tin-Tin are pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Scott said, once again glad that he had not had a mouth full of coffee. "Alan? I don't believe it!"

" _You_ don't believe it?" Jeff chuckled. "For the first time in years, I was speechless. Truly speechless."

"Well, that's great news!" Scott said. "Really great news."

"Hence why I think it's necessary to start expanding the 'family business,' since the family itself is about to get bigger. Alan and Tin-Tin will need time off, and John will need alternative relief from Five."

Scott shook his head.

"I'll be a son of a gun," he said. "A baby on the island."

"It'll mean some big changes," Jeff said. His voice softened and became almost sorrowful. "For all I know, the two of them might decide they want to raise their child on the mainland."

"Unlikely," Scott said. "But possible, I guess. If they stay here, we'll need to make adjustments to accommodation."

"There's a lot to think about, son," Jeff said. "I need to rely on you to help me get the ball rolling with recruitment. You'll need to help me shortlist candidates, carry out interviews - and run training programs for the new members."

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll do all I can."

Jeff smiled.

"I know you will, son," he said, raising his coffee cup in a small salute. "I know you will."

 **~oOo~**

As they rounded the last bend before the approach to the runway, Scott glanced over his shoulder. The two Lynch boys were red-faced and panting. _That's enough for one day_ , I think.

"Thank God," Matthew said. "I'm not an unfit guy, but I don't think I'm up to much more!"

They approached the base of the cliff that hid Thunderbird Two's voluminous hangar and Scott came to a stop. Matthew put his hands on his hips and gazed upwards.

"How do we get up there?" He asked.

Scott grinned as he gave his answer. He pointed at a staircase bored into the side of the rock.

"We take the stairs."

"God preserve us!" Matthew said. he adjusted the straps on his pack and rolled his shoulders. "All right then. Eli, the last one up does the sweaty training clothes laundry!"

And without another word, the two brothers were off like a shot. Scott laughed anew and followed - at a slightly more sedate pace.


	5. Meeting

"Okay, John. Let's have it."

The crew had mustered in the lounge as soon as the emergency signal sounded. John's voice rang out into the waiting silence.

"There's been an incident at an arctic research centre in Greenland," he said. "Three men are trapped in underground and there's no equipment for within one hundred miles to help get them out."

Jeff nodded. He turned to his eldest.

"Scott, away you go. John will give you the co-ordinates."

"Yes, sir," Scott said, crossing to the lamps that marked his entrance to Thunderbird One.

As he disappeared, Jeff turned his attention to the others.

* * *

"Virgil, take the Mole."

"FAB," he said, and rose immediately to make his way to the chute to Thunderbird Two.

"He might need a double crew, Father," Alan said, rising hastily from his chair.

"Right," Jeff replied, "but you're due to relieve your brother in a few hours. Gordon will go."

Alan's face crumpled and he sat back down. Gordon slapped his shoulder on the way past.

"Next time, fella," he said.

Alan responded with a grunt and folded his arms as he watched the last of his brothers disappear. The twins watched the scene with wide-eyed fascination. Matthew shook his head when he saw the long rocket painting spirit Virgil away.

"Now _that's_ a commute to work," he said.

Jeff nodded.

"There are plenty of surprises around here," he said. He returned his attention to John's portrait. "Keep me informed, son."

"FAB, Father. See you soon."

"Right."

The live feed clicked back to the portrait of his elder blond and Jeff, as always, sent out a silent prayer. _Keep them all safe_. Then he turned to Alan, who was trying to keep his face carefully schooled to avoid betraying his annoyance. He was failing miserably.

"Alan, perhaps you can take these boys through a short history of International Rescue before you have to go," Jeff said. "I'm sure there are a few stories you could tell them."

The youngest Tracy's eyes lit up and Jeff hid his grin behind his hand.

 **~oOo~**

When Thunderbird Three came to rest in its hangar, John let out a long breath.

"And _relax_ ," he said.

He did not bother to change out of his uniform; it needed to be laundered anyway. Instead, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed down to the couch that would return him to the villa.

By the time he reached the lounge, he estimated that he had yawned eighteen times.

"Tired, son?" Jeff asked as the couch clicked back into position.

"Absolutely," John said.

He rose and crossed the room to give his father a brief hug.

"Welcome home," Jeff said as he returned the embrace. "I'm sorry you missed out on all the festivities, but I do think there's a significant pile of presents for you in your room."

"Excellent," John said. "No doubt a collection of sci-fi socks and math puzzles."

"Most likely," Jeff said. "How's the lecture coming?"

John shrugged and tossed his bag onto the floor.

"I have the main body of it done. I just need to keep tweaking it until I'm satisfied."

Before Jeff could respond, another voice rang out.

"John! Welcome home!"

Tin-Tin rushed across and pulled the tall blond into a tight hug. John laughed and returned her squeeze.

"Thanks, Tin-Tin," he said. He held her at arm's length. "Can I see the scan in person now?"

In a split second the holocard was out of her pocket and in John's hand. He brought it close to his face and whistled.

"Good God," he said. "That's just beautiful. And you don't know the gender?"

Tin-Tin shook her head.

"We don't want to," she said. "I'd rather not know."

John shook his head and handed the card back to her.

"I still can't believe it." He gave his father a sidelong look. "Can you, _Grandpa_?"

Jeff groaned again, though it was good-natured.

"Not you as well," he said. "You're all out to make me feel old."

Without warning, John found himself yawning again. He covered his mouth.

"Wow, excuse me," he said. "I think I'd better hit the hay."

"I would wait for a while if I were you," Jeff said. "Scott and the others will be back within the hour and no doubt Gordon will want you to open your presents with him there. Sleep and you'll end up being bounced out of bed."

John rolled his eyes and bent to pick up his bag.

"Good advice," he said. "Maybe I'll just change and grab a snack instead."

"I'll walk with you," Tin-Tin said. "I'm going that way anyway."

The two companions headed out of the lounge and towards the villa bedrooms. Tin-Tin, as always, filled John in on the island scuttlebutt. The main topic, of course, was the arrival of the new recruits.

"They seem very nice," Tin-Tin said. "Though in some ways they're a strange pair. They look the same but have very different personalities. One is talkative and bubbly. The other is quiet and reserved. It's like looking at the same person on two different days."

John stopped at the door to his room and leaned against it.

"Well, as long as they're competent and can take the pressure, I guess it doesn't matter if they're friendly or unfriendly." He looked at the floor for a moment before returning his gaze to Tin-Tin. "I just hope Dad's done the right thing in bringing them here."

"I'm sure he has," Tin-Tin said.

They parted and John resisted the urge to flop down onto the bed and sleep. There was no doubt that Gordon would seize the opportunity to jump on him, possibly bringing Virgil in to conspire against him as well. _And I am not up for that kind of squashing!_ he thought.

After he changed into his favourite t-shirt – Old Faithful, a black cotton one that had seen him through many years – and pulled on a pair of faded jeans, John wandered down to the kitchen, whistling tunelessly as he went.

The rescue had gone well, with no major issues cropping up, so he felt no guilt in turning his attention to his stomach and his lecture. He pottered about the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for a club sandwich as his mind turned his research over and over. In fact, his mind was so concerned with dark matter theory that he neglected to pay proper attention to his actions.

That led to a significant problem; he managed to put a kitchen knife straight through his finger.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched the blood bubble up from the wound and start pouring from his finger. It took a few moments for sense to kick in – and for the pain to materialise. He spluttered out a few words that would have earned him a smack from his grandmother and held the hand up, watching in disbelief.

"I can't believe I did that! _Argh_!"

Sandwich abandoned, he reached for the nearest dish towel and wrapped it around his hand. His finger throbbed and he could not help but bark out a laugh at his stupidity.

"That looked pretty deep," he said. "I don't think a band-aid will cut it."

He winced, this time not from pain, but from his poor choice of words.

"Good one, Tracy," he said.

Keeping his hand held aloft, he hurried to the sick room, as it seemed to be the only logical place to go. _I don't quite know what I'll do when I get there, but still_ , he thought.

It turned out that he didn't need to do anything. When he got there, he came face to face with someone who knew exactly what to do.

One of the twins turned from the open supplies cupboard he had been looking in and blinked a few times.

"What happened?" he asked.

The man's voice was soft and yet firm, poised and confident. His green eyes were fixed on the growing bloodstain on the towel. John shook his head and sighed.

"I tried to cook. It didn't work out so well."

Instead of chuckling, the man's face remained serious and he motioned for John to sit on one of the beds.

"Let me have a look," he said.

Gingerly, John unwrapped the makeshift bandage and winced. Blood was still pouring from the gash. The other man hopped up and grabbed a package of gauze, pulling out a few squares. He removed the towel completely and wrapped some of the sterile material over the wound.

"Hold that on there for me, please," he said.

John nodded and did as he was told.

"How does it look?"

The red-head went back to the supplies cupboard and brought over what John recognised as a minor wounds kit.

"It's not as bad as it looks," the man said. "Finger wounds tend bleed a lot since the skin is so vascular. It doesn't need stitches."

He unwrapped the kit and opened the little tube of saline, then unwrapped the bloodied gauze and started cleaning the wound. He did so quickly and quietly, with a firm grip on his patient's hand. John watched as he worked.

"I'm John, by the way," he said.

"Elijah."

"I'm guessing you're the nurse," John said.

"Yup," Elijah said, pulling a few skin closures from their package and applying them to the wound. "Good thing you didn't arrive here in flames. Then you would have been all out of luck."

John chuckled.

"I'm sure you would have figured it out."

Elijah started to dress the wound. John guessed that they were around the same age – now closer the thirty than twenty. His hair was bright, a more vibrant shade of red than Gordon's more muted auburn. His green eyes were flecked with brown, the irises ringed with black.

"Judging by the accent, I guess you're Irish?" John asked.

"Aye. From Donegal."

 _"An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?"_

Elijah's head snapped up and he cocked it to one side.

" _Tá, beagán_ ,"he replied. "I'm surprised you can, though."

John shrugged.

"I only know a few bits and pieces. Like, ' _Is mise John_.'"

"' _Is mise_ Sean,' more like," Elijah said. He shook his head. "The last thing I expected when I moved to the South Pacific was to find someone who spoke Irish."

"Languages are one of my things," John said.

"I was never good at them," Elijah said. "In one of my French exams I said I had 'red horse' rather than 'red hair' and I gave up at that point."

John chuckled. He flexed his newly dressed finger as best he could.

" _Go raibh maith agat_ ," he said.

Elijah nodded.

"You're welcome. Keep it on for a few days and then we'll see how you're healing."

"Will do. So, am I your first patient?" John asked.

"Apart from supplying my brother with blister plasters, yeah," Elijah said with a wince.

"Has Scott been pushing you hard from the start?"

"Yes."

So much emotion was conveyed in that one word. John reached out with his good hand to pat the man on the shoulder. When he did, Elijah's green eyes flickered with something – it was quick, gone in a heartbeat. There was a flutter in John's chest that he pushed away without thinking.

"I've been there, done that, got the scars to prove it," John said. "Scott can be a hard task-master."

Elijah nodded and absently rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, we didn't come here for a holiday," he said.

Again, without thinking, John spoke.

"Why _did_ you come here?"

There was no harshness in his tone. Elijah did not answer at once.

"To make a difference, I guess," he said. Then he gave a self-derisive snort. "That sounds terrible."

John shook his head.

"No, it doesn't. I guess that's why we're all here."

Elijah motioned at John's finger. He looked down and saw a small bloodstain creeping through.

"Don't worry about that," the Irishman said. "It'll stop in a short while."

John nodded and rose from the bed. He thanked the nurse again and said his goodbyes. Slowly, he made his way back to his discarded sandwich.

"Here's hoping I can finish making it without severing anything else!" he thought.

This time, his thoughts were not distracted by work. However, at the back of his mind, something else, something imperceptible, began to grow.

 **~oOo~**

 _An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?_ _–_ _Do you speak Irish?_

 _Tá, beagán_ _–_ _Yes, a little._

 _Is mise… – My name is._

 _Sean – Irish form of John._

 _Go raibh maith agat_ _–_ _Thank you._


	6. Secrets

It was a perfectly nondescript house. That was the beauty of it. Nestled in the Essex countryside, surrounded by flat fields that, by summer, would be golden with rapeseed. She stood at the upper window of the old farmhouse – built in the sixteenth century – and nursed her cup of tea.

It was time.

Her fingers pressed into the warm porcelain to stop the shake of her hands. It had been too long since she had last received the fulfilment that she needed. It had been too long since she had been in the embrace of a lover.

Pressing her face to the cold glass, her breath clouding its surface, she looked down into the yard. Her eyes travelled to the flowerbed that marked the border of the garden and the fields she leased out to farmers. Resting in the shade of an ancient oak, two little garden gnomes sat on the bare soil. Of course, in the spring the first flowers would burst into life, and the gnomes would be surrounded by snowdrops.

A smile spread across her face as her mind's eye saw what was under those gnomes, deep down beneath the dark soil.

"Mum?"

Her smile disappeared and she pulled away from the window.

"What?"

Her tone was flat. She did not turn around.

"There's a trip to London next month for school. I… I was wondering if I could go?"

She didn't even pause before answering.

"No."

"Okay…"

Her daughter did not argue. She didn't stamp her feet or call her mother all the names under the sun. Instead, the teenager simply left the room. The woman listened to the slow creak of her descent downstairs.

Irritation sparked inside her and, had it not been for her distracted thoughts, the woman would have pursued her daughter, grabbed her by the hair and taught her what happened to little girls who weren't content with what they had. Why, why, _why_ did the child always have to ask for more?

The woman closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

It was definitely time. She needed comfort.

She turned to face the room that would soon be filled again. She crossed to the bed and straightened the patchwork quilt, tugging so that it sat _just so_. Everything needed to be perfect to welcome her new guest, whoever he might be. She set her cup down on the pine bedside cabinet and opened the drawer. Inside were the tricks of her trade. One by one, she took them out and set them on the bed. Handcuffs (proper ones, not the cheap safety lock kind), flunitrazepam and a telescopic baton. She opened it with a deft flick of the wrist.

It was time. The two bodies buried under the flowerbed, marked by their little gnomes, were of no use any more.

It was time for a new guest.

Time for a new lover.

When she grinned, her teeth glinted in the gloom.

 **~oOo~**

"And you're sure you want to drive?" Jeff asked.

John nodded and tried not to smile. His father's concern was touching, if irritating. He was perched on the edge of Jeff's desk as the older man went over the itinerary for his trip. It was only three days away.

"Yes, Dad," John said. "It's been a long time since I've been behind the wheel."

"I don't understand why you'd want to, when there's a perfectly good, high-speed train that will get you from London to Cambridge much faster," Jeff said.

"I just feel like driving," John reiterated. "It's been a while and it means I'll have more freedom. The university have guaranteed me a sparking spot. And I hate standing around in train stations. I'd much prefer to be stuck in traffic in my own car so I don't need to share my space with any strangers."

Gordon looked over the top of his newspaper, one eyebrow raised.

"And this is clearly why Johnny likes his duty on Thunderbird Five. No pesky mortals like us to irritate him."

Had there been an item in his hand, John would have launched it at his brother. Instead, he merely shook his head.

"Ha ha, so funny," he said.

"Good comeback, bro," Gordon replied. "That's right up there with 'uh huh?' and 'takes one to know one.'"

Jeff shook his head at his sons' jests and tapped his PDA.

"Okay. I've booked a car for you to pick up at Heathrow." He scrolled back up to the top of the itinerary and read through it again. "You're taking Fireflash from Sydney Airport to Heathrow, then driving to Cambridge, staying at Darwin College…"

"Everything is in hand, Dad," John said. "I'll fly over, deliver my lecture, have a few pints in a 'ye olde tavern' –"

"And buy some fudge," Gordon said from behind the paper. "Do not forget to bring me home some of the heaven that comes from Fudge Kitchen."

"– and buy Gordon some fudge. How do you even remember that? I haven't been to Cambridge in six years."

Very slowly, Gordon lowered the paper and folded it on his knees.

"One never forgets good fudge," he said, his tone perfectly serious.

"So," John continued, shaking his head again, "everything is fine."

"I know, son," Jeff said. "I know. All you need to do is make sure you're ready."

John shrugged.

"I'm as ready as I can be," he said.

Those words, though, were not entirely true. Confident as he was in his research, there was a niggling doubt at the back of his mind. He excused himself, saying he wanted to look over his notes again and maybe take a walk, and returned to his room. However, instead of reaching for his tablet, he knelt down at his bedside table and pulled the bottom drawer out. He unhooked the runners and set the drawer aside, reached into the recess and laid his hands on a small package. He pulled it out, put it in his pocket and replaced the drawer.

Trying to look as innocent as possible, he made his way through the villa and down the steps that led from the pool patio to the beach. His feet sank in the sand as he walked in the failing sunlight until he reached his destination – a fallen palm tree that was partly in the shade. He sat down and fished the package from his pocket. _No one will find out..._

He only managed three drags before he was interrupted.

"Ahem."

John snapped around.

" _Shit_ ," he said, nearly dropping the cigarette.

His eldest brother was standing a few meters away, arms folded and a deep frown on his face.

"You must be nervous," Scott said. "I haven't seen you smoke since your last book launch."

John swallowed, the taste of smoke and guilt mingling on his tongue.

"If I said this was only a figment of your imagination, would you believe me?" he asked.

Scott took a few steps closer and held out his hand, saying nothing. John sighed, stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette, placed it back in the box and handed it to his brother.

"Lighter as well," Scott said.

John grunted but handed it over.

"We all said we would stop," Scott chided.

"I know, I know," John replied, sounding petulant.

Scott sat down on the felled palm tree and leaned his forearms on his thighs. John started out at the cerulean ocean. The waves were edged with gold as the sun sank. They were quiet for a while.

"Why are you worried?" Scott asked at last.

John thought carefully before he answered. When he did, his voice was low.

"I'm nervous in case I don't get a good reception, that's for sure. But…" He paused to gather his thoughts. He needed to find the right words. "Part of me wants to fail. Dad's been pushing me to pursue my academic career and I know what _he_ would say, but I don't know what I would do if I was offered a fellowship somewhere. Again, I mean. I turned down King's College two years ago."

"Are you afraid you would say yes?" Scott asked.

John nodded. It was just like Scott to hit the nail on the head.

"Yes. I'm not saying I think that's what's going to happen – I deliver one lecture and then Cambridge are falling over themselves to have me. That's not going to happen. But… I guess I need to figure out what I really want. I don't want to leave IR. I _really_ don't. But at the same time, I don't want to be Grandma's age, looking back and wishing I had taken the opportunity. You know? So it would be easier if I just made complete mess of the lecture and the door would be firmly closed."

"I wish I knew what to say." Scott laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met and God knows you deserve the chance to share that knowledge. But I don't know what we would do without you."

John snorted.

"Buy an industrial answering machine for TB5," he said.

Scott did not laugh.

"Hey, that's not funny," he said.

"I know," John replied. "I don't really mean it. I guess I'm just afraid of change. And I don't want to be the one brother who left the organisation. The _abandoner_."

Scott squeezed John's shoulder.

"Just take things one step at a time," he said. "Get the lecture over with and see what happens. There's no point in worrying over something that hasn't happened yet.

"True." John dipped his head a little and gave his brother what he hoped was a puppy-dog look. "Can I have my cigarettes back now?"

"Over my dead body," Scott said.

John grinned.

"It was worth a try!"

They sat for a time in each other's company until the sun began to set. They walked back to the villa under an orange-wash sky.


	7. Success

"Now that is something I never expected to see."

Virgil gave a lopsided smile as Matthew looked down at himself, resplendent in his brand new uniform. The twins were sitting in the jump seats behind the pilot's chair of Thunderbird Two.

"Now remember boys, you're only along to observe," Virgil said.

"Or maybe bandage some boo-boos," Gordon quipped. He was sitting on the other side of the cockpit.

Elijah shrugged. Matthew smiled and gave a mock salute.

"F.A.G.," he said. "Isn't that it?"

Gordon snorted so loud he choked himself. Virgil closed his eyes and cringed. Elijah's eyes widened and he punched his brother in the ribs. Hard.

"It's F.A. _B_., ya eejit," he said. "What you said is something very offensive."

"What?"

"Think about it."

It took Matthew a second to comprehend. When he did, his face burned as red as his new IR sash.

"Ooooooh, sorry," he said. "My bad."

"Base from Thunderbird Two," Virgil said, glossing over the slip-up as the rest of his crew started to laugh – or at least Gordon and Matthew. "We're about to take off."

Jeff's voice rang through the comm; he sounded disgruntled.

" _Why is there so much laughter in there?_ _This isn't a game, you know_."

"Yes, Father," he said, shooting Gordon a glare. The red-head did his best to bring his mirth under control. "We had a slight...technical difficulty, but it's been resolved."

" _Technical difficulty_?" Jeff asked, " _Is this something I should be concerned about_?"

"No, Father," Virgil replied. "I'll explain later."

" _All right... If you say so. Good luck, boys_."

"F.A.B."

Virgil manoeuvred the great craft onto the runway. The palm trees bent back and within moments they were shooting up into the darkening sky. A storm was moving in. When they lifted off, he chuckled as he heard the twin exclamations of 'whoa' from behind him.

"Impressive, isn't she?" he said.

"Not half," Matthew said.

"She's a big green behemoth," Gordon said, "but as reliable as they come. Though perhaps not as good as a certain other craft."

"That yellow submarine?" Virgil said. His mouth slid into a smirk. "Why, it's nothing more than a glorified pod vehicle."

There was a beat of silence.

"Oh, you did not," Gordon said. "You did _not_ just say that. You'll pay for that, Tracy!"

Virgil shrugged. Matthew spoke in a stage whisper. Virgil looked over his shoulder to see him leaning over, his mouth as his brother's ear.

"Mental note. Don't insult the submarine."

"He won't," Gordon said. "He's going to be my underwater buddy. Isn't that right, Silent Bob?"

Elijah nodded.

"Yup."

Virgil adjusted his heading by point two degrees. They were en route to a sinking ocean tanker in the mid-Atlantic. If its contents spilled, the world would be looking at an environmental disaster the likes of which it hadn't experienced since the early twenty-first century.

"Don't tease the kid," Virgil said. "Not everyone feels the need to be as much of a blabber mouth as you."

"Kid?" Gordon asked. "How old are you two anyway?"

"Twenty-seven," Matthew said.

"Which one's older?"

"I am," Elijah said. "By two minutes."

"And he never lets me forget it!" Matthew said.

"That's right, _little_ brother."

 **~oOo~**

Virgil had to hand it to them; the Lynch brothers did exactly as they were told. They stood back, observed, didn't meddle. _Looks like Dad was right about these two_ , he thought. They hovered at his shoulder, watching his every move as he manipulated the controls of Thunderbird Two. They had watched, amazed, when the pod dropped and Thunderbird Four emerged.

" _Thunderbirds Two and One from Thunderbird Four_ ," Gordon said. " _Am making my way to the damaged section now_."

" _F.A.B., Thunderbird Four_." Scott's authoritative tone rang out through the cockpit. " _Thunderbird Two, I've been in contact with the crew. They've made their way to the emergency capsule and are preparing to deploy. At the rate the ship is taking on water, there's no way we'll be able to save it. Once Gordon secures the chemical leak, we'll have to let it go_."

"Right, Scott," Virgil said. "Thunderbird Four can tow the capsule into the pod and I'll retrieve them together."

The comm clicked off and Virgil turned to glance at the brothers.

"Very slick," Matthew said.

"Isn't there any way to buoy up the ship?" Elijah asked. "It seems dangerous to leave it submerged."

"Our priority is to stop the immediate disaster and rescue the crew," Virgil said. "The ship's owners can come in and retrieve it. It's their responsibility."

Elijah nodded.

"True," he said.

It didn't take long for Gordon to patch up the hull damage. The tanker stopped taking on water, though was now listing at a steep angle.

" _Piece of cake_ ," he said. " _I'm going to collect the capsule now and tow it in. Prepare for retrieval, Thunderbird Two_."

"F.A.B.," Virgil said. "Another rescue successfully completed."

" _I'll call it in_ ," Scott said. " _See you back at base. How did our new recruits cope?_ "

"Just fine, Scott. Just fine."

 **~oOo~**

Back on Tracy Island, Jeff smiled when his first born called to inform him that the danger had been resolved. It was mid-morning. The sky was grey as a storm passed by; it had been brewing since the boys' departure. Thankfully, the island had been spared from the worst of the weather.

John appeared in the lounge, trailing a wheeled suitcase.

"It's about that time, Father," he said. "I wish I'd been able to say goodbye to the boys in person. Tell them to behave for me, will you?"

Jeff went to his son's side.

"Will do," he said. "I'll walk with you to the hangar."

John was to take Tracy Two, one of the family's small private planes, and fly to Sydney. They had planned for Virgil to co-pilot and bring the jet back, but at the last minute they had been forced to book a hangar at Sydney Airport. Tin-Tin has offered to co-pilot, but Jeff and Kyrano had not entertained the idea.

"I'm pregnant, not an invalid," she had said.

However, there was nothing she could do to overcome the combined weight of two grandfathers-to-be, so she had been forced to admit defeat.

As he stowed his gear, John looked up at the Cliff House. There were three figures waving from the balcony: Tin-Tin, Grandma and Brains. He gave them a cheerful wave back before turning to his father.

"Passport?" Jeff asked.

"Check."

"Ticket?"

"Got it on my cell."

"So you've got your cell phone then. Good. Lecture notes?"

"Dad, I have everything I need."

Jeff grunted and crossed his arms. John pushed his blond cowlick from his eyes and leaned against the plane's fuselage.

"It's cool, Dad. Everything is in hand."

"The boys are on their way back," Jeff said. "Maybe I should co-pilot for you."

" _Dad_ ," John said, standing straight again. "I'm a big boy, I stopped needing my hand held about twenty five years ago."

Jeff uncrossed his arms and pulled his son in for a brief hug.

"You never wanted your hand holding," he said. "Stay safe and call in when you arrive in Sydney."

"Will do. And I won't talk to strangers or accept any candy."

Jeff shook his head but still smiled. The two men bid each other farewell and Jeff stood back as his son performed pre-flight checks. Within minutes, Tracy Two was streaking off into the dark sky and was enveloped by clouds.

"Good luck, son," Jeff said.

The plane was long gone from sight by the time he stopped staring. As he turned to walk back to the villa, thick drops of rain began to fall.


	8. Roadside

The winter darkness gave her all the cover she needed. The isolation of the farmhouse did the rest. She slipped into the driver's seat of the old Ford electrocar and reached for the engine start button. As soon as she pressed it, the vehicle sprang to life, the needles on the dashboard dials jumping upwards, before demurely falling back on themselves. The engine was silent but the gravel ground crunched under the tyres as she pulled out of the stone barn and down the winding driveway.

It was necessary to keep this particular car locked away. It was the car she used to pick up her boyfriends, and of course, the car the police may have been looking for. Of course, since the last outing she had changed the number plate to fool the cameras. But she only used it for these very special occasions, just in case. The last time she used it was two years before, when she had picked up Adam. He had lasted over a year before she put him in the garden. There had been some rumblings in the news about a disappearance but nothing had come of it. And of course, there had been no visitors to the farmhouse. There were never any visitors. The only one who ever went in and out freely was herself. Her daughter went to school and came back again and nowhere else.

The boyfriends came in on their feet. They went out in a bag.

She waited until she had pulled onto the main road before turning on the headlights. A heavy fog had fallen over the countryside. It enveloped the winding country roads. Up ahead, an ancient windmill rose out of the grey veil. The full moon hung low.

She would use the same tactic again. It had worked twice before; it would work again now. All it would take was patience.

The indicators _click-clicked_ as she signalled her intention to join the M11 and the car glided down the slip road, gradually picking up speed. She would travel down a few junctions, turn around and come a little way back up.

Then she would wait.

 **~oOo~**

"Have a lovely trip, sir."

The car rental assistant's grin was pasted on but John returned the smile regardless.

"I will," he said.

He picked up his paperwork and walked towards the exit, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He had been expecting a middle of the road, mid-size saloon car. However, his father had outdone himself. By the time John arrived at the pick-up zone, his ride was waiting for him. He whistled; his breath clouded in the cold air.

"Wow-ee! That's a sweet looking car. I know he doesn't go in for Japanese cars, but even _Alan_ would be jealous of this baby."

He accepted the offered key fob and shook his head. It was a brand new Toyota Avenger convertible, all sleek lines and tinted windows, with every conceivable bell and whistle inside.

"Enjoy," the attendant said. "You're the first one to take this model out."

John shivered, pulled open the passenger side door and hefted his suitcase onto the seat, for of course there was no trunk – or 'boot', as the Brits called it, he thought.

"I'm honoured," he said. "But also freezing."

"Not used to the cold, eh?" the man asked.

"Definitely not."

John slipped into the driver's seat, activated the engine and cranked the heat up to maximum. The voices on the radio chirped in their English accents. He programmed the sat nav, then tightened his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Okay, let's see what you can do."

 **~oOo~**

She pulled off three junctions down the motorway at the exit for Saffron Walden, looped the roundabout and re-joined in the opposite direction. It was just past nine in the evening and the traffic was non-existent, lighter still as it was a Sunday. Sundays were best for this kind of work, especially in winter when no one wanted to be out in the cold. The natural thing was to stay inside, by the fire, snuggled up to your loved ones.

Well, soon enough she would have a loved one to snuggle again.

She knew this road well. It was the main thoroughfare from London to Cambridge and she had travelled along it thousands of times. She was an observant sort of person, so she knew where exactly all the cameras were. Waiting until she was between two of them yet out of sight of both, she flicked on her hazard lights and pulled over onto the hard shoulder, gently bringing the car to a stop. Popping the bonnet, she got out and opened it.

This was the ruse. It was easy. Eventually, some do-gooder would see her in distress, pull over and, if it was a he and she liked him, well... She would carry out her plan.

She bent over the exposed engine and rubbed at her arms through her thick wool coat. It was a cold night. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long.

 **~oOo~**

Fatigue was catching up fast. John yawned and gave his head a shake. It had been a long day of travelling, though thanks to the Fireflash his travel time had been cut considerably.

"I don't know how many time zones I've passed through. All I know is that I'm looking forward to bed!"

The journey from Heathrow to Cambridge wasn't short, but at least the Sunday night lull in traffic would be a mercy. I _wish Fireflash flew in via Stansted,_ he said. _That would have been a lot easier! At least I'm nearly there._ He had checked in with the island as soon as he had mastered the car's controls. That hadn't taken long.

"Just like riding a bike," he had said to his father. "You never forget."

"Well just make sure you remember what side of the road you're meant to be on," Jeff had replied with a grin.

The English countryside flew by, unseen in the darkness as John opened up the throttle a little more - staying within the speed limit, of course. The sports car took the M25 and M11 with ease; its acceleration was impressive for a fully electric vehicle. Only vintage cars ran on gasoline, but electric engines had never quite managed to pack the same punch as a turbo V8. John could still remember his grandfather's 1968 Charger, a relic even when he had been a child. _That thing is over 100 years old, now,_ he thought. _I'm sure Dad must have it in storage somewhere._

He passed the junction for Saffron Walden and chuckled.

"The English have some strange place names," he said. Then he paused. "Though I guess we're not much better, considering there's a town called 'Pretty Prairie' back in Kansas."

When he hit a long straight, John decided to push the engine a little harder. However, up ahead, he could see a car pulled over at the side of the road with its four-ways flashing and he eased off the throttle. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. There were no other cars on the road. Then he glanced at the temperature reading on the dash computer. Minus three Celsius – or, as he automatically converted it, around 27 Fahrenheit. _That's cold…_

He slowed a little more and saw that there was a female figure standing beside the car, waving.

That did it.

He flicked on the turn signal and pulled over. It took a while to stop safely, so he ended up a lot further on than he had anticipated. John turned off the engine, zipped his jacket up to his neck, and waved at the woman beside the car.

Steeling himself against the cold and jamming his hands into his pockets, he jogged towards her.

 **~oOo~**

It wasn't working. It _wasn't working_. She clenched her fists so hard her arms shook. Her teeth ground against each other. It. Wasn't. Working. Five cars had passed her. Five cars had ignored her. It burned her from the inside out; her rage protected her from the cold.

But then the sports car slowed down. It passed. It pulled over. A man got out. She grinned.

Oh, yes.

A tall man, somewhere in his twenties, jogged along the hard shoulder with his hands in his pockets. Rage ebbed and desire flowed. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught. This was it. She stood on the precipice of action, but did not hesitate because of anxiety. She waited because she knew exactly what to do. First step: become the damsel in distress.

"Oh, thank you!" she said as the man approached. "I didn't think anyone would stop!"

"No problem, ma'am," he said as he reached her side. "What seems to be the trouble?"

His American twang fuelled her excitement. Neither of the others had been American. She turned to the engine and pointed.

"I don't know what's wrong with this thing," she said. "Everything was fine and then suddenly the engine cut out."

She got a good look at his face and hid her glee. This yank was the epitome of what the movies said an American should be: tall, blond, handsome, athletic, friendly. A real boy-next-door. For the first time, she was glad that the other cars had not stopped. The universe had delivered her a wonderful surprise. Patience is a virtue, after all.

He bent over the engine.

"Nothing looks obviously out of whack," he said. "Do you have a torch? Then I can take a closer look."

There it was again, the universe dealing her the fourth ace she needed. What a perfect excuse. She hadn't even had to suggest it herself this time.

"I might have one in the glove compartment," she said. "Let me check for you."

The handle was icy as she pulled the passenger side door open and pretended to rummage around. What she needed was already laid out. She picked up her baton and climbed back out of the car. Her feet were silent on the ground. She didn't close the door, lest it catch his attention. She looked up and down the road; there was no-one around.

He was still bent over the engine as she flicked open the baton. He did look up at the sound, but it was too late.

 **~oOo~**

Playing Good Samaritan hadn't been on the cards when he left Heathrow and in truth, part of him had been sorely tempted to drive on by. But the isolation and the freezing temperature had tugged at his heartstrings and hadn't let go. _I am a softie, all right,_ he thought.

The woman was older than him, mid-forties maybe, with brown hair that reached her shoulders. The look of joy and relief on her face when he appeared made it worth fighting against the cold and fatigue.

He bent over the engine. It was remarkably clean for an older model car. He ran his eyes over the system. He was no expert but nothing seemed amiss – although it was very dark at the side of the lonely road.

"Nothing looks obviously out of whack," he said. "Do you have a torch? Then I can take a closer look."

"I might have one in the glove compartment," the woman replied. "Let me check for you."

She went to have a look and John returned his attention to the engine. _Everything looks perfectly fine,_ he said. _I hope she knows the number of a tow truck because I don't think I'll be much of a knight in shining armour today!_

He was expecting to hear the light click of the torch as it was turned on. But he didn't. Instead, he heard a soft whoosh followed by a click, almost like the sound of a mag slipping into a handgun.

He did look up at the sound, but it was too late.

"What the –"

The woman moved with incredible speed, bringing something long and dark down at his head. He didn't have time to move. He didn't have time to think. He didn't have long to wait before the weapon was brought down on his skull.

Then there was nothing.


	9. Revelations

The third time was the easiest. Loading the body into the boot was cumbersome but she knew the technique. Place your hands under the person's armpits, heave them upwards and push. Once the torso was in, the rest was easy. She arranged the young man in a foetal position to fit his lanky arms and legs in. His hair, soft and golden as corn, fell across his forehead and she reached to brush it back. Her gesture was tender, loving.

Then she slammed the boot lid closed. She got into the car, drove off and sped past the sports car, its hazard lights winking in the darkness.

 **~oOo~**

Another morning, another cup of coffee. Jeff sat at the kitchen table as his mother busied herself with preparing breakfast. He had, as he did every morning, told his mother to sit down and allow him to prepare his breakfast. However, she had, as she did every morning, told him to sit down and wait for his eggs. Jeff shook his head as he flicked open the morning paper. It was a battle he would never win.

He browsed the front page before skimming to the business section, clicking his tongue at the news. Taking a sip of the freshly brewed coffee, he glanced at his watch. John would have arrived at Darwin college by now, likely exhausted from crossing time zones and date lines. He should have called in by now, but considering his travel time and the late hour in England, it was possible that he had simply fallen into bed.

As she placed his breakfast in front of him, his mother noticed him looking at his watch.

"Don't fret," she said. "It's, what, ten in the evening in England? He's probably gone straight to sleep."

"I know, Mother," Jeff said. "It would certainly ease my mind if he called in, but it can wait. It's not like his edible transmitter has activated. There's nothing to be concerned about."

"Exactly. So eat up. You're still a growing boy," she joked.

Jeff patted his middle.

"Growing outwards, maybe," he said.

At that moment, Gordon arrived in the kitchen, a whirlwind of sound and motion.

"Good morning, beautiful!" he said, leaning down to give his petite grandmother a kiss on the cheek. He grabbed a nearby dish towel and threw it over his forearm as if he were a waiter. "Ah, I see zis morning we have ze _special_ , eggs a la Grand-maman."

Grandma Tracy pulled the towel from his arm and whipped it across his behind.

"Siddown," she said, trying not to laugh. "Save the theatrics for a dinner show."

"Aye-aye!" Gordon said. He fell into the seat beside his father. "Has John arrived in Cambridge?"

"I assume so, son," Jeff said. "He hasn't checked in yet."

Gordon poured himself a cup of coffee; Jeff frowned as he added half the sugar bowl to it.

"Johnny-boy is probably out painting the town red already," Gordon joked.

He sipped his coffee and gave a satisfied sigh.

 **~oOo~**

Agony was the first thing John felt. An all-consuming pain shot from the back of his head and wrapped around him like a pair of tightening claws. As consciousness fully returned, other sensations followed. There was the vile taste in his mouth, the harshness of the pillow under his head, the drape of an unfamiliar blanket over him. He reached to touch the back of his head and his fingers came away sticky and dark.

It felt as though he was swimming in molasses, as if the air itself was suddenly viscous. It took a monumental effort to sit upright and when John finally managed it, his blood ran cold.

He was alone in a dark room that had only one window. The end of the metal bedstead was silhouetted against the pale blue veil that preceded the sunrise. The blanket had fallen to his waist and he looked down. _Where is my shirt? Why... What goes on here?_ There was a sharp chill in the air; it was almost as cold as it had been outside.

Then it came back, a maelstrom of memories crashing over him. The car, the roadside, the woman.

Casting the blanket aside completely, he set his feet on the floor. When he tried to stand, though, his right hand would not co-operate. It was caught on something. When John looked, he saw the reason plainly: he was handcuffed to the bed. _Oh my God! What is this?_

With the stress, the pain in his head exploded exponentially and he fell back onto the mattress. White lightning strikes of agony flew across his eyelids and he gritted his teeth, grunting through the pain.

Eventually, his senses returned. _What the hell is going on?_ he thought. _I need to get out of here!_

As his head stopped spinning, he sat back up and cast his eyes around for his clothes, though he could see nothing. _Dammit_ , he thought. _This is not good. How am I going to get out of this?_ He pulled at the handcuffs' grip; the metal bit into his wrist. He leaned in to look at the lock but the darkness thwarted him.

Then the doorknob turned.

John's head snapped towards the door, preparing himself for whatever would come through. The door swung open, the overhead light clicked on and the woman from the roadside stood in the doorway, smiling.

"Hello," she said. "You're awake at last. I was worried about you."

"Where am I?" John demanded. "What did you do to me?"

The woman giggled; the girlish sound was eerie; it made his skin crawl.

"I brought you home, silly," she said.

"This is not my home," John said. "You can't keep me here. Just let me go."

Slowly, so slowly, the woman's face changed as she walked towards the bed. Her expression slid from a pleasant smile to a dark-eyed scowl. From her side, she lifted an arm to reveal a handgun.

"This is your home now," she said. "You belong here with me."

John's eyes widened at the sight of the gun and he raised his unbound hand. At this close range, even a poor shot could still hit him.

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but –"

The woman erupted with rage, rushing forward and striking out with the butt of the gun. John managed to dodge the blow but found himself on his back, pinned against the pillow with the woman screaming in his face.

"You _do_ know what's going on! You're here with me! You're _staying here_ _with_ _me_!"

John couldn't take his eyes off the gun that was pressed into his chest. His heartbeat thundered and blood roared in his ears. The pain at the back of his skull rose to in a crescendo.

"Okay, okay!" he said. "Just… Let's talk about this."

"There isn't anything to talk about," the woman said, her voice suddenly calmer. She withdrew the gun and sat on the edge of the bed. Setting the weapon down, she brought her hand up and placed it on John's face. "You're here with me now," she said softly. "That's all you need to know."

John flinched away from the caress. The woman smiled and patted his cheek.

"You'll learn," she said.

"Look, I have a family. I can't stay here. I have to go back to them."

"There's a family right here for you," the woman said. "There's me, there's my daughter. That's all you need."

"You don't understand. I –"

Moving with incredible speed, the woman grabbed his jaw and jerked his head. Pain seared through his skull again.

"No, _you_ don't understand," she growled. "You don't have a choice. The minute you pulled over to the side of the road, you became my property. You belong to me. You. Are. Mine."

John's heartbeat pounded anew and a wave of terror enveloped him. _My God, this is just… What is happening? This can't be real. It just can't!_

The woman relinquished his face and gave him a demure smile.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just lose my temper sometimes. I'm not always this irrational. My name is Grace. What's yours?"

Fury swelled inside him and he schooled his face into a snarl.

"I'm not telling you anything," John said.

Grace's face fell into a scowl again and she slapped him across the face with an open palm.

"Don't talk to me like that," she said. "Show some respect."

John's cheek strung but he barely felt it as his rage exploded.

"Respect?" he spat. "Show some _respect_? You've kidnapped me, you've chained me to a bed, you've threatened me with a gun and you want _me_ to show _you_ some respect?"

She struck him again. Despite the sting, he refused to show any pain.

"I did show you respect," she said. "I didn't kill you. And I certainly could have." She leaned in close, her hair brushing against his burning cheek and bare chest. His skin crawled again as her hot breath washed over him. "And I could have killed you. Easily. It wouldn't have been the first time."

John's blood ran cold and bile rose in his throat. _Oh, God..._

Grace drew away again and tugged at the handcuff that secured him to the bed. She smiled.

"Now," she said, rising. "I have to get my daughter ready for school. You just stay here and think about your situation. I'll be back later."

John said nothing. There was nothing to be said. When she left, he allowed the first few tears to fall. _Oh my God, what is going on? How did this happen? What am I going to do?  
_  
He limply pulled against the handcuff and squeezed his eyes shut. _I need a plan and I need it now._


	10. Searching

By six p.m., Jeff Tracy could wait no longer. John was an early riser and, after a long day of travelling or not, he should have called in by now.

His son's cell rang and rang. No answer. He tried the International Rescue frequency. Nothing. It didn't even click to a blank screen. The device must have been turned off - something that none of the boys would ever do.

"Something's not right here," he said.

Scott was standing by the desk with his arms crossed, his face marred by a deep frown.

"Right, Dad," he said. "It's not like John to stay out of contact."

Concern gnawed at Jeff's mind and he tried again to make contact. The ring went on and on.

No response.

It really wasn't like John to stay out of contact. His elder blond was many things: quiet, even shy at times; materialistic, placing technology on the same level as human lives; solitary, even preferring solo pursuits when back on Earth. John looked at life through a slightly different lens than his brothers. Perhaps he didn't have the self-assurance of Gordon or the red, white and blue bravery of Scott, but he wasn't a coward. And he was certainly not forgetful. He had never been forgetful. _This whole situation feels very wrong._

So he decided to switch tactics.

"Thunderbird Five from Base. Come in, Alan."

It took a moment before he appeared, clipboard in hand.

"Father, what's wrong?"

"Plenty, Alan," Jeff said. "Your brother still hasn't checked in from England. Have you heard from him?"

Alan frowned.

"No, Father. I haven't heard anything. I assumed he would call you guys down there."

Jeff shook his head. The muscles of Scott's jaw clenched.

"Can you check to see if his emergency signal is transmitting, Alan?" he asked.

The youngest Tracy turned away for a moment as he did just that.

"It's not, Scott," he said. "There's nothing to indicate he's in any danger."

"And yet we haven't heard from him," Jeff said. "Alan, keep an ear out for your brother, just in case something has happened. Check police frequencies in the area between London and Cambridge."

"F.A.B., Father," Alan said. He paused before he terminated the line. "I'm sure he's just fine. There's probably a good explanation for all this."

Jeff nodded, acknowledging his youngest's efforts to provide comfort, although it didn't do much to ease his troubled mind. He turned to Scott; those jaw muscles were taut again.

"Maybe I should fly out there, Father," he said. "At top speed, I can be over England within the hour."

"No, son," Jeff said. "I need you here in case there's an emergency call. However, I do think it's time to call for some help." He opened a new call frequency. "International Rescue England from Headquarters..."

 **~oOo~**

Lady Penelope was already sitting up in bed when the call from International Rescue came through. She glanced at the antique clock on her nightstand. _A quarter past six. I do hope nothing is wrong._ She reached across to pluck up her compact mirror-come-communicator and gently lifted it open.

"International Rescue England, Lady Penelope speaking. How may I help you, Jeff?"

Penelope's heart sank when she saw the drawn look on her old friend's face.

"I think we may have a problem, Penny," he said. "John still hasn't checked in after his trip to Cambridge and I'm starting to get concerned."

"Oh dear. That is most distressing," Penelope said. "I do wish he had let me pick him up from Heathrow in the Rolls."

"Believe me, Penny, so do I. I don't know what's happened, but I do know that something is amiss. Will you look into this for me?" Jeff asked.

"Of course," Penelope answered. "Leave it in my capable hands. I'm sure there is a perfectly rational explanation for all of this," she said.

There was silence on the line. Penelope's chest tightened at the brief flash of sorrow that rolled over Jeff's face.

"I know, Penny," Jeff said. "But I can't shake the feeling that it's not as simple as that. Alan will fill you in on John's likely route." He gave her a nod. "Keep in touch."

"Will do."

His face disappeared and Penelope gently closed the compact again. Then she reached for the mansion's internal intercom.

"Parker, get the Rolls," she said. "We need to take a little trip."

Within twenty minutes, they were on the road, Parker pushing the pink Rolls Royce up to the speed limit and perhaps a little beyond. When Penelope had filled him in on the details, Parker's carefully constructed mask of dignified servitude had slipped. His eyes had widened ever so slightly and the corners of his mouth had twitched. Through their years with International Rescue, both she and her faithful butler had become more than just fond of the Tracy family.

"H'ai do 'ope that nothing 'as 'appened," he said as they glided through the frosty Gloucestershire countryside.

"So do I, Parker. We shall travel to Heathrow first and track his route towards Cambridge. I shall start making enquiries with the various police constituencies he would have travelled through." She glanced at her watch. "It is a little early yet, however." She looked out the window, her breath ghosting on the cold glass. "I do wish the situation had not been so urgent and we had had time for breakfast."

"H'ai 'ad anticipated that, Milady," Parker said. "If you look in the foot well to your right, you will see h'ai 'ave packed you a small repast."

Smiling fondly, Penelope reached down and plucked up the small box. Inside was a flask of hot cocoa and one of her cook, Lilian's, fresh baked croissants.

"Parker, what would I do without you?"

In the rear view mirror, she saw the corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile.

 **~oOo~**

When the front door slammed, John tried again to wrench his hand free from its bindings.

"God dammit," he snarled. "She's gone. It's the perfect opportunity to get out of here. And I'm stuck to this bed!"

He didn't hear the car start but he did hear it pull away, gravel crunching under its tyres. John pulled again; it felt like his wrist was being bitten to the bone. He stood and tried to wrench the whole bedstead, hoping he could at least make his way to the window to see where he was. But it was wrought iron and stubborn, remaining firmly in place.

Feeling panic rise like bile, he sat back down and took a few deep breaths.

"Okay, let's think about this. Where are you? No idea. Why are you here? No idea. Any way to get out? Not that I can see." He let out a string of expletives and slammed his bare feet on the rough floorboards. "Dad's probably going out of his mind - with either anger or worry. I just wish I could contact them. I wish I had my communicator watch!"

He stared down at his bare, bleeding wrist. The watch that served as his lifeline to Tracy Island and the organisation was gone.

"I don't remember losing it," he said. "I put it back on after airport security in Sydney so I definitely had it with me. Dammit!" A thought struck him and a new wave of panic rose. "What if she has the watch? What if a call comes through from Dad or Alan and she sees it? Not good!" Then he laughed. It was a high, strangled sound. "That's not the only thing that isn't good. Stuck in a house with a madwoman is not good. Being _chained to a bed_ in the house of a madwoman is _definitely_ not good. I don't even want to think about the implications of that."

Determination flared anew in him. As the sun rose, light was filtering in through the small window and he leaned in to look at the handcuffs again.

"Those are no toys," he said, "and lock-picking isn't really my expertise. Well, maybe it's time for some on the job training."

Exactly how he would achieve that, he had no idea, but he knew he had to try.

 **~oOo~**

"Thank you so much for your time, detective," Penelope said to the little face in her compact. "And once again, I do apologise for having to contact you at such an early hour."

"Any time, your ladyship," the woman said. "My team will keep you informed if anything comes up."

The image of the detective sergeant clicked off and Penelope closed the compact. She pressed it tight against the palm of her hand.

"Another dead end," she said. "How tiresome."

"Yus, Milady," Parker said. "We h'are just about to cross into the jurisdiction of the Essex Police now. Perhaps they will have some news."

Penelope tapped her chin with the compact and shook her head.

"Perhaps, Parker. I shall make a few enquiries. From what I understand, the car John was driving was most unusual. It should not be too difficult to track it." She flicked open the compact again. "I believe I shall call in a little favour."

Penelope waited for her transmission to go through and smiled graciously at the dishevelled face that appeared.

"Campton," he said gruffly. The man blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. "Lady Penelope, is that you?"

"Yes, Detective Inspector. It is I."

"Why, I haven't heard from you since you helped us crack the Snakebite smuggling ring four years ago."

"Four years?" Penelope shook her head. "It doesn't seem that long ago. Well, Detective Inspector Campton, at the time you did say that if ever I needed any help, you would be most obliging. I hope there is no time limit on that offer."

Campton shook his head.

"Of course not," he said. "How can I help?"

"A good friend of mine was travelling from Australia to Cambridge, and on the way from Heathrow he seems to have disappeared. He hasn't contacted his family and they can't get through to him. Could you do some checking for me? I would be most appreciative."

Campton's face had become more serious with every word.

"Give me all the information you can, Lady Penelope," he said. "I'll see what I can do."

 **~oOo~**

Jeff had tried calling the porter's office at Darwin College ten times over but there had been no response. He glanced at his watch. Seven thirty p.m. on the island meant seven thirty a.m. there. If only he could get through, could have someone confirm that John had arrived safely. The worry would be over. But he couldn't, and it wasn't, and he felt entirely hopeless.

Slamming his hands down onto the desk, Jeff growled.

"I should have been firmer with him," he said. "I should have made him get the train."

"Oh, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think you could have stopped him."

Jeff's tone softened and he brought a hand up to pat Tin-Tin's own.

"I know, I know. My sons aren't children any more. They're young men, though I still feel responsible for their safety."

"Of course you do," Tin-Tin said. "We're all worried. But I know John. Even if he is in some kind of trouble, he'll be doing his best to get out of it and to make contact."

"I know. I-"

At that moment, the eyes of Alan's portrait began to blink. Jeff's hand was on the call button straight away. _It could be news!_

"Go ahead, Alan," he said.

"Father, there's been an incident at a nuclear facility in Japan," Alan said. His voice lacked the usual enthusiasm it held when a rescue call came through. "They're requesting assistance."

"F.A.B.," Jeff said.

His heart felt like stone as the crew assembled. Each one had a face that was distorted with worry.

"There's been no news on John as yet," Jeff said, "but we still have a job to do. There's a situation in Japan and International Rescue is needed. So we're going to do what we need to do."

As he sent his sons off on another mission, leaving the new recruits behind, reality struck like an arrow to the heart. As always, there was a possibility that one of them wouldn't make it back. He leaned back in his chair. They had accepted that possibility. _He_ had accepted that possibility.

His eyes were drawn to the portrait to the left, his elder blond, blue eyes sparkling, resplendent in the uniform he had been so proud to accept.

There was a possibility he was never coming back.

Jeff cast aside that thought. _No_ , he told himself. What's our motto? _Never give up at any cost. I won't give up, and neither will my son._


	11. Taking

_**Nothing explicit, but definite squick warning from here on in.**_

 **~oOo~**

As soon as he heard the crunch of tyres on gravel again, his heart was in his throat. John became still as stone when the key turned in the front door. Any attempt to pick the handcuff lock had been thwarted and he had seriously started to consider slamming his hand against the wall until his bones splintered. Maybe then, he would be able to slip out of the impossibly tight cuff…

Footsteps echoed from downstairs; it sounded like heavy boots on a wooden floor. He remained motionless as he listened. The footsteps became a little fainter and then he heard the sound of water filling something – probably a kettle. _How domestic_ , he thought, _but I don't particularly want to stay for tea. Think, John, think! What would Scott do? What would Virgil do?_

He didn't get much more time to ponder. He could hear someone on the staircase; one step, two steps. His mouth went dry.

Those heavy boots were getting closer. The steps stopped outside the door and there was some rummaging. Then the handle turned, the door was pushed open, and Grace entered, carrying a basin of steaming water. She had a bag on her shoulder and a flannel over her arm.

"Well, young man," she said, crossing the room and placing the basin on the nightstand. "I hope you've had enough time to think about your situation."

Fury and fright churned in his stomach. John said nothing. The woman smiled with sickly sympathy.

"Oh, dear," she said. "Still grumpy? Maybe I can make you feel better. I brought you something to wash with, and," she said as she opened the bag, "some clean clothes."

John felt himself blanch. Grace chuckled, a tinkling sound. It was as if she had seen that face before.

"Oh, don't worry," she said. "They're brand new. I sometimes buy men's clothes I like, even if there's no one at home to wear them for me." She placed the bag on the floor and unzipped it. She fished out a light blue, button-down shirt and unfurled it as if it were made of fine silk. "I think blue is your colour."

She laid it on the bed; John slid a little further away, finding himself against the metal headboard. Grace looked up, smiling, before plucking a pair of dark blue jeans from the bag. She laid them on the bed by the shirt, then added socks and boxers. She slowly smoothed each item of clothing out, removing every crease. John watched, confusion rising within him. Something about the way she so carefully arranged the clothing sent a chill up his spine.

"Now," Grace said as she straightened a sock so it sat perfectly in line with the other, "I want you to wash and dress – as best you can, considering." She nodded at the cuff that held him to the bed. "I'll be back up in a few minutes with breakfast."

It was bizarre. It was surreal. It was _wrong_.

"You can't do this!" John found himself shouting, wrenching anew against the restraint. "You can't keep me here."

There was no rage in her response this time. Instead she cocked her head to the side and looked at him with… _pity_.

"Oh, dear," she said again. "You're still grumpy. Well, I'm afraid to say that I certainly can keep you here. You're mine now. I'll dress you the way I want. I'll put you where I want. I'll only let you do what _I_ want you to do."

John shook his head and could not stop the incredulous smile from spreading across his face.

"What are you, some kind of control freak?"

As fast as before, she was on him, beating him about the head with both fists. There was force behind those arms that belied her size. John's first instinct was to strike back, but his second was to stop himself. _You can't hit a woman!_ a voice screamed from the back of his mind. A more rational voice replied: _That rule shouldn't be in play when the woman has kidnapped you!_

"Don't you dare talk back to me!" Grace screamed, her voice piercing his eardrums. "If you can't hold your tongue, I'll cut it out!"

John tried to protect himself from the blows with his one free hand and kept his eyes squeezed shut until the barrage stopped. _I don't doubt it, lady!_ he thought.

After half a minute or so, the last blow fell. Grace drew away and John hissed through his teeth. His face and head had been peppered with knocks; the wound at the back of his head was throbbing again. He could feel something hot dribbling from his temple. _Blood_ , he thought. He brought his fingers up to touch the area and they came away red.

Grace had taken a few steps away and had turned around. He could see her shoulders heaving as she fought to regain control.

"Get dressed," she barked.

Then she was gone, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Despite the beating, John felt almost numb. _I can't believe this is happening,_ he thought. _This has got to be some kind of sick dream._

In the carefree, whitewashed world of Tracy Island, this sort of thing didn't happen. In the solitary embrace of the stars, there was no one there to hurt him. This must have just been a nightmare, a combination of deep-set fears manifested in the worst way.

"Come on, John, wake up," he thought. "This can't be real. It just _can't_ be real."

Men didn't get kidnapped. They definitely didn't get kidnapped by women. Women weren't like that. They didn't rain punches down on men. And anyway, a man should be able to protect himself, right? _So why didn't you push her away? Why didn't you knock her lights out?_

That was simple: it wasn't possible. It had been too deeply ingrained in him, by both his father and his grandfather. _You never hit a woman_ , Jeff had said. _And you only hit another man as a last resort. Violence isn't the answer. Most of the time, it's what causes the problem in the first place._

John covered his face with his free hand. Tears stung his eyes again.

"This isn't real," he said again, gulping against the lump in his throat. "It can't be real. It's just a manifestation of all my fears: being kidnapped, being helpless. And the perpetrator is a woman because… Because I don't know anything about women. Women are 'the Other' to me, so it makes sense, right? And I wouldn't hit a woman, so it makes sense that my 'kidnapper' would be a woman. Right?"

The empty room did not respond. The silence brought reality crashing down around him.

He was still undressed when Grace returned, bearing a tea tray.

"Don't you like the clothes?" she asked. Her tone was almost caring. "Was the water too hot to wash with?" She set down the tray and dipped her fingers in the basin. "It doesn't feel too hot," she said. "Oh well. If you won't co-operate, I guess I'll have to do it myself."

She picked up the flannel, moistened it and knelt on the bed. John flinched away when she tried to clean his face. She shook her head. That sickly, sympathetic smile was back again.

"My, my, you are sensitive," she said. She pulled his face towards her, more gently than the last time she had touched him, and pressed the flannel to his temple. He hissed again. "There, now."

 _Push her over,_ John thought. _Push her off the bed. Break her nose. Break your own damn wrist and make a run for it!_

But he couldn't. It went against every principle he held dear. _There must be another way out of this_ , he thought. _Use your God-given brain and think!_

So, he tried a new tactic.

"Why am I here, really?" he asked, deliberately catching her eye for the first time.

Grace cocked her head to the side and blinked. Her eyes were round, owlish.

"No one has ever asked that question before," she responded, rinsing out the flannel and then cleaning the rest of his face. The motherly actions made his stomach churn again but he tried not to show it. "Well," she said, "it's simple. You're here because I want you to be here. You're here because that's what I want."

"Why do you want me here under this much duress?" John asked, closing his eyes as she wiped the flannel across his brow. "You've got to know that I don't want to be here."

Grace shrugged her shoulder and started wiping the back of his neck. She ran the cloth up to his hairline.

"I don't care that you don't want to be here," she said. "I've never cared if the men I brought home wanted to be here."

John opened his mouth to speak but found that he had no words. What could be said to that? Eventually, though, he found his voice. He spoke slowly, softly.

"What happened to the others, Grace?" he asked.

She wiped down his chest and lifted his free arm. It took all the effort that John had not to recoil.

"They stopped being useful to me," she said, as matter-of-factly as if she had been talking about a pair of old shoes. "First, there was Ian. He didn't last particularly long. He tried to kill me, pushed me down the stairs and then ran. I shot him in the back." She shook her head wistfully. "And I had liked him a lot. Marcus was the second one. He lasted over a year, but he gave up in the end. Just started crying for hours, never stopping. So I had to put him out of his misery." She paused, grabbing onto John's raised bicep and looking straight into his eyes. "I didn't want to kill them," she said. "That's not what I want. I didn't _like_ having to do that. I cried when I put them in the garden."

The intensity of her stare, the shake in her arm as she pressed her fingers deep into his muscle, sent another chill down John's spine. _I am in so much danger,_ he thought.

She relinquished his arm and pulled away, casting the flannel aside. When she spoke again, she kept her back to him.

"I've never found it easy to make friends," she said. Her voice was so low he could barely make out her words. "I always tried but no one wanted me. Even when I was a baby, no one wanted me." Then her tone took on a hard edge. "So I need to take what I want," she said. "I _have_ to take it."

The cooling water on his skin made him shiver. John gulped against the rising tide of fear within him. _Not good, not good…_

Grace turned around again, her face pulled into a plastic smile.

"Well, never mind all that," she said. "We all have our little problems, hmm? So I've had my Marcus and my Ian. Who are you?"

John set his jaw and shook his head.

"I'm not telling you anything."

The woman shrugged; it was a girlish, teenage response.

"I guess it doesn't matter," she said. "If I didn't like your name, I would just change it anyway. I'll have to have a think about what to call you."

She lifted the mug of tea, now lukewarm, from the tray and held it out to him. John just about stopped himself from licking his lips. They were cracked and his mouth was arid, but it galled him to take anything from her.

Grace rolled her eyes.

"Just take it," she said. "It's only tea."

Thirst ruled his actions and he accepted the cup. It was a delicate thing, thin china with a floral pattern. He sipped the liquid but nearly spat it out again.

"Good God, that's sweet," he said.

Grace giggled and placed a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, sorry," she said. "I sometimes forget that other people don't take their drinks as sweet as I do. It's a force of habit to just pile the sweeteners in."

John forced himself to gulp the liquid down regardless. _Dehydration will do me no good,_ he thought. _Not that tea is good for dehydration. But still, it's better than nothing…_

After a few moments, he licked his moistened lips. Fear rose again. There was something else wrong with the taste, something that went beyond even the saccharine tang of too many artificial sweeteners.

Then the dizziness hit.

"Oh, God…"

The cup tumbled from his hand and he fell face down onto the blanket. Try as he might, he could not shift his head. His body was no longer his own to command. For a terrible moment, he couldn't suck any air into his lungs. _I'm going to suffocate!_ But then he was upright again, the room spinning as all energy drained from his body.

"What…"

He felt something at his wrist – he was free! She had released the cuff! _Run, Tracy, run!_

But of course, he could not.

John felt himself being lowered on to his back, yet at the same time he seemed to be floating away. Everything disappeared as the world went dark. Then sight returned but sound had gone. He felt Grace grab his head and tip it backwards. Then something was thrown down his throat.

Her words reverberated in his mind.

" _I need to take what I want_. _I_ have _to take it_."

Mercifully, he didn't feel the rest.


	12. The Call

"Thank you so much for your time, Detective Inspector," Penelope said.

She rose from her seat in the small office and reached out her hand. Campton shook it and nodded.

"You're welcome, Lady Penelope. I just wish I had more news for you." He released her hand. "We'll do everything we can to find him."

"I know you will," Penelope said, "and I know John's family will be most appreciative of your efforts. Thank you once again for letting me make the initial call to them."

Campton nodded again.

"I wouldn't normally allow it but since it's you, I can make an exception." He paused. "We really will do everything we can."

With a sad smile, the man withdrew from the room, leaving Penelope alone with only the televid for company.

"Oh, dear," she thought as she lowered herself into the chair again. "This is going to be most unpleasant."

 **~oOo~**

Time had never ticked so slowly. Not even the distraction of a rescue had kept Gordon's mind away from the what-ifs and worst cases. He felt as though the wind had been taken out of his sails. _Where are you, Johnny?_ he thought. _Don't do this to us_. It was one in the morning, yet everyone was still awake. Jeff had tried to send them off to bed after the rescue but his efforts were half-hearted at best.

Gordon glanced over at his father's. The man looked as though he had aged ten years in the last ten hours. His lips were pressed into a thin line. His grey hair, usually so neat, was unkempt from the countless times he had run his hands through it. For the first time since their mother had passed away, Gordon had not known what to say. So instead he sat on the couch, arms tightly folded over his chest and one foot tapping on the ground.

Virgil was sitting at the piano but hadn't played a note. He had merely ghosted his fingers over the keys. Scott was standing nearby, turned towards the window as he watched the moon climb and start to fall again. Tin-Tin and Grandma were on one of the other couches, leaning into one another for comfort. Kyrano sat beside them with a hand on his daughter's shoulder, his usually composed face lined with worry. Brains was sitting at the chess board; he hadn't moved a piece in two hours. The Lynch twins had busied themselves making tea and clearing away dishes. A heaviness hung in the air, a darkness that had nothing to do with the night outside.

When the video phone sounded, everyone flinched.

Jeff's hand was on the accept button in under a second and Lady Penelope's fair face appeared. The sorrow in her blue eyes cut deep into Gordon's heart as he jumped up from his seat and went to his father's side. The others joined him and he shared a long look with his older brothers. _Please let him be okay…_

"Jeff, everyone. I am using the video phone as I am not in a position to use our…other line." Her meaning was clear: _don't mention International Rescue_. "I have some news." She paused. "It's not good."

Gordon turned as his grandmother gave a choked sob. Tin-Tin pulled her into a hug. He gulped and turned back.

"John's car was found abandoned at the side of the M11, between Saffron Walden and Duxford. It doesn't appear that there was a struggle. His luggage was still inside but the doors were unlocked."

"What about camera footage, Penny?" Jeff asked. "Were there any witnesses?"

Penelope shook her head, the pearls at her neck shifting a little.

"There are no cameras in the area and, thus far, no one has provided any information about the issue. The police are intending to release a statement to the press and will soon be in contact with you. An old friend of mine, Detective Inspector David Campton, is in charge of the investigation." Penelope bit her bottom lip and looked away for a moment. "Jeff, there is something else you need to know."

Gordon leaned forward and placed his hand on his father's shoulder.

"Go ahead, Penny," Jeff said. His voice was toneless.

"Well, this isn't the first disappearance in the area. In fact, John is the third young man to disappear from the M11 hard shoulder in nearly four years."

"What?" Gordon asked. "You can't be serious!"

"I am entirely serious, Gordon," she said.

"What happened to the other two men who disappeared?" Jeff asked.

 _Don't. Just don't go there,_ Gordon thought. _Don't think the worst…_

"They have never been found," Penelope said. Her voice began to waver. "Jeff, the police are afraid that John may have been kidnapped. They are also afraid that, while they have no bodies, due to the nature of the crimes and the emerging pattern, they could be dealing with…a serial killer."

Gordon felt his insides backflip and he stumbled away, placing a hand to his mouth as his stomach threatened to eject its contents. _No, no, no, no!_

Virgil was at his side in seconds and placed a steadying arm around his him.

"Easy, fella," he said.

When Gordon looked up, he saw his terror reflected in Virgil's dark eyes. Virgil squeezed his brother's shoulders.

"I am so sorry, Jeff," Penelope said.

"All right, Penny," Jeff said. "One of us will be there as soon as we can."

"Okay, Jeff," Penelope said. "I shall be waiting."

The video phone screen clicked off and Jeff did not move. For a few moments, he was exquisitely still.

"Father, I'll go," Scott said.

"No, son," Jeff said. He stood up, rising to his full height and turning to face his eldest son. "I'm going. You need to stay here. International Rescue is now in your hands."

"Yes, Father," Scott said.

Then Jeff turned to Gordon.

"I'm going to need someone to fly me to England in Thunderbird One and then return to base," he said. "Will you do that for me, son?"

Gordon nodded and straightened up. Virgil patted him on the shoulder. Never, in the entire history of International Rescue, had his father asked him to fly Thunderbird One. It was always Alan, even though Gordon had achieved all his competencies and the internal 'certification' that Jeff required of them. Sometimes he had wondered if his father didn't trust him enough. Now, though, he saw that was certainly not true.

"F.A.B., Dad," he said.

"Off you go. I'll join you in the jump seat in five minutes."

Gordon nodded and went to walk to the sconces that marked the secret entrance to Thunderbird One's hangar. He stopped, though, and looked back at Scott.

"Good luck, kiddo," he said.

With that blessing, Gordon headed off to the hangar. He watched as Jeff went to comfort his mother.

"Oh, Jeff," Grandma sobbed. "What are we going to do?"

As he reached for the lamps, Gordon saw his father's face harden in a way it hadn't in years.

"Everything we can, Mother," he said. "Don't worry, I _will_ find my son."

 **~oOo~**

At first, he couldn't remember where he was. All he knew was that he had the mother of all hangovers. _What the hell did I do last night? I bet Gordon played a significant part in how I currently feel…_

Then it came back. Oh, it all came back.

John sat bolt upright, his arm jarring on the cuff. That was a mistake. His stomach churned and he looked around for something, _anything_ , to vomit into. But there was nothing. So instead, he threw his head over the side of the bed. His eyes streamed and his nose filled with gunk as he expelled what little was in his stomach all over the floor. _Oh, God. Oh, God._

Fatigue pressed him back onto the bed and his head was spinning, pounding as though he had drunk five too many tequilas. _The tea,_ John thought. _She drugged me. That bitch drugged me…_

And then the last words she spoke came back to him again.

" _I need to take what I want_. _I_ have _to take it_."

In that moment, the sickness didn't matter. The hammering in his head was nothing compared to the agony of realisation. _Oh, God. Oh, God, no…_

Of course, there was no evidence. He didn't feel physically different. There was no injury, no cuts, no bruises. Inside, though…

Inside.

He had died.

 **~oOo~**

"Changing to horizontal flight," Gordon said.

" _F.A.B., Thunderbird One_." It was strange to hear Scott's voice through the comm. " _Take care of my 'Bird._ "

"Will do," Gordon replied.

It had been some time since he had last trained in the sleek rocket but it came back with ease.

"Just like riding a bike," he said.

Jeff didn't reply. Gordon exhaled slowly and swallowed. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. How could he make it better? What could you do when there were no jokes left? Fear was churning in his chest as he adjusted his heading, bringing Thunderbird One around on itself to jet off in the right direction.

"That's what your brother said about driving," Jeff said quietly. "That is was like riding a bike. That you'd never forget."

"Dad," Gordon said, although it took some time for the rest of the sentence to come out. "He'll be fine. John _will_ be fine. He's smart. He's brave. If someone has taken him, he'll find a way out."

"I don't doubt your brother's intelligence or courage, son," Jeff said. "I worry that he's in a situation that he can't get out of, no matter his level of bravery or aptitude. If you're staring down the barrel of a gun, it doesn't matter what you're like. Your life is entirely in the other person's hands. And that is the most frightening thing about this. He might simply be powerless to help himself." Jeff snorted, a derisive sound. "I imagine he pulled over to the side of the road to help someone. It's what I would have done, what any of you would have done."

"He might be totally fine, Dad," Gordon said.

His reiteration didn't bring much comfort. Reality pressed down like a tonne weight. They fell silent in the cockpit and for a time, the only noise was Thunderbird One as she ferried them across the world.

It gave Gordon time to think. John was… There were too many things to say. John had been both his cheerleader and his taskmaster, never letting him get complacent about his Olympic training. He had been the comforting hug when Gordon needed it most, after their mother had died. John's had been the face Gordon had seen first when he woke up in hospital after his hydrofoil accident.

" _Hey, Squid,_ " he had said. " _There are easier ways to earn a vacation, you know…_ "

People often lumped Gordon and Alan together, the two youngest, the two troublemakers and tricksters. He smiled in spite of the weight on his heart. It was true. They were rogues, and when together, no one was safe.

But that wasn't all that made Gordon Tracy. He wasn't a mindless prankster, some idiot who was incapable of being sensible and sensitive. There was a lot more to him. Despite being an aquanaut, he could still see the beauty of the stars and he had a collection of sci-fi novels that would put any 'space nerd' like John to shame. John complemented that side of him as much as Alan complemented the other.

That was why, when he had heard the words 'serial killer', the redheaded Tracy had nearly lost his mind. _You can't take him away from us_ , he thought. _You can't take him away from_ me _. Whoever you are, you have no right to rip our family apart._

Gordon adjusted his heading again. Thaere was only one person who could help his brother now.

 _Mom?_ Gordon thought. _I know you're probably sick of hearing me asking you for help with stuff, but this is important. Please, keep Johnny safe. Don't let him join you. I'm…I'm not ready for that._

He kissed the tips of his index and middle fingers and sent the prayer off into the ether.

 _I'm definitely not ready for that._


	13. The Truth

Sleep came but when he awoke, Jeff Tracy felt far from rested. He sat up in the plush hotel bed and sat for a moment, trying to get his plan of action straight in his head. Later, he would have to do something he never thought he would have to. Later, he was going to have to make a public appeal for the return of his son.

Jeff planted his feet on the floor and curled his toes into the carpet. This was going to be news. Big news. The disappearance of the son of an ex-astronaut-turned-billionaire industrialist was going to draw news teams from all over the world.

He pushed himself to his feet and started to get ready, pulling on his clothing and grabbing his wallet. It was more photo album than wallet, really. In truth, that still wasn't accurate. It was more of a communication device, since it held the portraits of his sons that doubled as portable comm. links. Jeff opened it and flicked to the third photograph. His eyes lingered for some time on the face of his son.

John took his looks from his grandfather, with his thick blond coif and angular face. Many of his mannerisms reminded Jeff of his father as well. John, like Grant had been before him, was a man of firmly held beliefs – equality for all, universal education, the right to dignity – but he had never been one to force those beliefs on anyone. In a conversation, John would frequently say very little, instead preferring to linger in the background and listen. Sometimes that trait had frustrated Jeff. He was a man that would not swing and miss, a man who liked his opinion to be heard. His son's quiet nature was something he had found difficult to reconcile with – especially since the other four were so outspoken.

Snapping the wallet shut, Jeff closed his eyes. The pain of losing any of his sons would be too much to bear. It had been bad enough to lose his wife and father in one fell swoop. _Please don't take another one away from me_ , he thought. _Please_.

 **~oOo~**

John sat facing the wall, his toes curled against the wooden floor. His nausea had lessened since the previous day and the pain in his head had reduced to a dull ache. The morning had greeted him with sunshine but no warmth. Goosebumps crawled up his bare arms and back and he stared at the peeling wallpaper, thinking. He absently tugged on the handcuff. _Nope. Still solid…_

His grandmother had always taught him to find the positive in any situation but he was struggling to find even one glimmer of hope at that moment. He was chained up, stuck in a room that absolutely _stank_ of vomit and urine – his captor hadn't thought to give him access to any sanitary wear, so what was he to do? – and there was a feeling of total filth ensnaring him.

He brought his hands up to rub his arms. Filth didn't even half cover it. _Obscene is more like it,_ he thought. _I feel totally obscene_.

John Tracy had known from a young age that he wasn't interested in women. There was not even a flicker of desire there. He had told Scott first, over a long-distance phone call when Scott had gone off to college. John's main concern had been his father's reaction but Scott had set him straight – even in the darkness of his current mind set, he couldn't help but give a small smile at his pun.

"Johnny, Dad is not going to care whether you like guys or girls or radishes, so long as you keep your grade point average up!"

John drummed his toes on the floor. There had been no eyelashes batted or eyebrows raised when the news became common knowledge. And so life had gone on.

But now it felt like it had stopped. Did it make it worse that his assailant was a woman? His stomach lurched and he leaned over, trying to keep the nausea at bay. Probably not worse but certainly different. _I'd never even… And now…_ Another wave of sickness crashed over him and this time he did vomit. The handcuff savaged his wrist as he leaned over but there was nothing he could do.

"Oh, dear. You're not very well, are you?"

John wiped his mouth with his free hand and felt rage, in its most pure form, rise within him.

"Fuck you," he said.

Grace tutted and shook her head, pointing at the weapons on her hips. On one side was the gun and the other was the baton.

"My, my, what a mouth," she said. "I don't like that very much."

"Can't say I'm so enamoured with you," John said.

He stood and tried his best to square up to her, though he knew there was a pathetic futility in the action. What could he do? Grace unclipped the baton from her belt; it gave a savage click as she extended it.

"You've made quite the mess in here," she said, gesturing at the detritus on the floor. "Though, that's not the first time I've seen it happen."

"What did you give me yesterday?" John asked.

"Flunitrazepam," Grace said. The smile on her lips was callous. "Otherwise known as –"

"Roofies," John finished for her. "Or the 'date-rape' drug." He snorted. "You're one seriously twisted individual."

His lips curled in a primal snarl and every muscle in his body tensed. _It's fight or flight_ , he thought, _and I can't exactly fly_.

"Once you don't need them anymore, you'll feel much better," Grace said.

John laughed; it was a vicious bark, a sound that had never before come from his throat.

"You've got to be kidding," he said. "I'll never, _ever_ consent to this."

Grace took a few steps forward and tapped her palm with the end of the baton.

"That's what Ian said. That's what Marcus said. But they both gave in."

"I never will," John said.

Grace twirled the baton around and brought it towards him. John flinched away but instead of striking him with it, she stopped it just shy of his face and stroked it down his cheek.

"Tut, tut," she said. "You've very obstinate. Still not going to tell me your name?"

"I'm not telling you anything," John said, his chin tilted up.

Grace chuckled and tapped his arm with the baton.

"So you think. Anyway, I didn't come up here to have a chat. You need to wash and eat. I'll make you a nice lunch after you take a shower."

John barked out a laugh again and crossed his arms. His face was painted with defiance. Grace's expression darkened and he felt a twinge of fear.

"You're doing it whether you want to or not," she said. "I'm going to unlock your cuffs but, before you think of doing anything stupid, remember that I have my baton and my gun. You'd be dead before you got three steps out the door."

 _Maybe that would be easier_ , John thought. Then the twinge of pain became a stab in his chest. _Don't think like that, Tracy. Don't give up._

Grace stepped over the small pool of vomit and extracted a silver key from her pocket. She unlocked the cuff but kept her eyes on John, her free hand gripping the baton. His instinct was to push her down and flee but sense invaded. _She will kill you. You know it_.

So instead he brought his wrist up and rubbed at the raw flesh. Grace waved the baton.

"Go," she said. "Remember, don't run."

Eyes ablaze with fury, john did as he was told. _Self-preservation_ , he thought. _Keep yourself alive until they find you. Because they will. They have to._

 **~oOo~**

Jeff settled himself at the table. It was covered in a dark blue cloth and dotted with microphones. The room fell silent and what felt like hundreds of cameras turned to him. He was flanked by police officers and the detective that Penelope knew. He of them cleared his throat, raising a piece of paper.

"Good morning, everybody. I am Detective Inspector Campton and I'm here to inform you of a missing persons case. On the night of Sunday the 13th of January, a young man named John Eugene Tracy, whose photograph is displayed on the screen behind us, disappeared from the side of the M11 motorway between Saffron Walden and Duxford."

Jeff did not glance over his shoulder at the image of his missing son. It was the same image that he kept in his wallet, the image he had looked at just that morning.

Campton continued.

"John travelled into the country from Australia and his route took him from Heathrow along the M25, in a clockwise direction, and then country bound along the M11. He was driving a new, blue coloured Toyota Avenger. This car was found abandoned at the roadside at around four a.m. on Monday morning. Though there was no sign of a struggle, we are concerned that he may have come to some harm. Police will be conducting detailed and thorough overland and house to house searches in the local area, as well as looking at CCTV footage covering his journey. I would appeal for anyone who has information on this case to come forward. John Tracy is twenty-eight years old and is described as being six feet two in height, of slight build, with blond hair and blue eyes. He also speaks with an American accent." He paused and looked at Jeff. "I would like to now hand you over to John's father, Jeff Tracy, who will make an appeal on behalf of the family."

Jeff closed his eyes, asked the sun, the moon and the stars for help, cleared his throat, and began to read the speech he had been dreading to give.

 **~oOo~**

As much as he wanted to resist, the offer of a shower and food had been too much for John to fight. He scrubbed his skin raw with the soap he was offered and lingered far longer than he should have, wishing and hoping that the scalding water would wash away some of the pain.

But it didn't. Eventually, he shut the water off, dried himself and put on the clothes he had been given. The jeans were too big around the waist but otherwise the garments were comfortable enough. _They'll do for now_ , he thought. _It's not like I have a choice_. The bathroom door opened and Grace entered. She looked him up and down in a way that made his skin crawl.

"Oh, yes," she said. "That's lovely. You look very handsome."

John kept his face as still as he could, staring her straight in the eye. She did not flinch away. Instead, she glanced at his feet.

"I'll try and find you some shoes," she said. "Hmm. Trainers, I think. Or as you might say, 'sneakers.'" She giggled. "Americanisms do make me laugh."

John wasn't laughing.

"Well, come downstairs now," Grace said. "You must be hungry."

She waved the baton again and gestured for him to walk in front of her. Looking at his surroundings, John shook his head. Everything was normal. Perfectly normal. There were no pictures of torture or human skin lampshades. There were canvas prints of flowers and little glass figurines dotted on the window sills and neatly pressed curtains hanging in perfect folds. It wasn't until she prodded him in the back that he realised he had stopped.

"Downstairs," she said. "Then through to the kitchen. Oh, and don't make a run for the door. It's locked – and I still have my gun."

Anger flared but he clenched his fists and tried to keep a lid on his temper. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, right in front of him was the door to freedom.

"I said _don't_ ," Grace whispered.

He delayed at the foot of the stairs until she shoved him in the back. He stumbled forward and shot her a filthy look but she merely smiled.

"Kitchen."

John was propelled into the room and she pointed at the knotted wood table and chairs.

"Sit," she said.

He took a little longer than was necessary to obey. One of her eyes twitched as she placed the baton back on her belt.

"I'll make you a sandwich," she said.

John did not respond.

Before she started to work, Grace flicked on the televid and changed the channel to the lunchtime news. And John became very, very still. His father was on the screen and behind him, a picture of his face. A tickertape scrolled below his father's drawn face. _BREAKING NEWS – ESSEX: BILLIONAIRE'S SON DISAPPEARS FROM M11 HARD SHOULDER._

"Oh, my," Grace said.

John leaned forward as she turned up the volume.

" _…_ _and the family has made the following statement_ ," the newsreader said.

"John." Jeff's voice rang out through the rustic kitchen. "We're all very worried about you, son. If you can hear this, know that we'll do everything we can to bring you home. Your brothers and I will do absolutely everything in our power to find you. If anyone has any information, please, please come forward. I am offering a reward of one hundred thousand pounds for the information that brings my son home." He paused for a moment, gulping, before looking up into the camera. "And, to the person or persons who may have him, please let him go. He means the world to our family and we would not be able to bear the loss." He paused again; his voice had wavered on the last word. Then he looked up again. "John, remember: _never give up at any cost_."

The screen clicked back to the newsreader. John had not realised he was crying until he felt hot streaks down his face. Grace turned to him, her movements slow. There was a look of victory on her face that made him want to reach out and strike her.

"So. Your name is John and your father is a billionaire," she said. "That makes things ever so exciting."

"My father will give you whatever you want," John said.

Grace crossed the room and knelt down in front of him. She pushed the damp hair from her forehead.

"Oh, John," she said, reaching up to cup his face. He flinched so instead she grabbed his cheek. "I already have everything that I want. I have you."

That did it. In one swift movement, John leapt from his chair and pushed both hands into her chest. She yelped as she hit the floor and John reached for the weapons at her waist. He went for the gun but she was faster, pulling it out of its holster and pointing it at his head.

"Don't you dare," she said. "Don't even _think_ about it. Don't you get it? You don't have a choice here. I have the choice. I am the one in charge. I am the one who decides when you leave!"

"Then just shoot me!" John screamed. "You might as well because I will never, _ever_ consent to this. I'll kick and scream and try to escape at every chance. And eventually I'll succeed and you will end up rotting in prison."

The muzzle of the gun was shoved into his forehead and he stepped back as Grace rose.

"John, John, _John_ ," she said. "You. Don't. Get. It." She motioned for him to sit again, shoving him down by the shoulder when he refused to comply. "I don't _want_ you to consent. I don't _need_ you to consent." Her eyes were fiery, ablaze with wrath. "You know what happens when you aren't in total control? You know what happens when you give the other person a choice? Inevitably, they will make the _wrong_ choice. They will end up hurting you, leaving you, _abandoning_ you, just like my husband did. And where is he now, hmm? Shacked up in some swanky flat in London. He never calls. He never sees his daughter. And he doesn't give a shit about me. I did everything for him. _Everything_. I gave him my heart, my soul, my body. And for what? To be cheated on, deserted, left to raise a child single handed. So." She jammed the gun into his forehead again. "I don't care if you consent. I don't even want you to consent. I don't care about you. All you are is something for me to own, to use as I please. When I'm done with you, and only then, I will put you out of your misery. But know this: to use your phrase, you are never, _ever_ getting out of this house. Two men have tried before you. Two men have failed and now they're in the ground. And that is where you will end up, whenever _I_ decide."

Without thinking, John recoiled and then spat in her face.

"Don't count on it," he said. "I have no intention of being buried here. I will get out."

Grace's face was pulled with disgust and she wiped his saliva from her eye. John felt a surge of victory and he grinned.

"That was not a good idea, John," Grace said, her voice low and deadly. "I don't appreciate being disrespected like that. You need to pay for your impertinence."

"I think I've already paid for it," he said. "I know what you did to me."

"And I don't care that you know. You don't matter. I am the only one who matters."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a blister pack of pills. Gun on one hand, she grabbed his face with the other and forced his mouth open. Fighting tooth and nail in spite of the threat of a gun, John resisted as long as he could. But there was, in truth, little he could do.

It didn't take long for the pills to take hold again. This time it was his father's words that came back to him.

" _John, remember:_ never give up at any cost."


	14. Reality

Dangling his feet in the water, Gordon stared at his reflection. The morning sunshine glimmered on the ripples as the heat of the morning began to rise. A haze of insect song floated on the breeze. He hadn't managed to get into the pool yet. For the first time ever, Gordon Tracy did not feel like swimming.

Nothing could distract his thoughts. All he could think about was John. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he okay? Questions swirled around in his head but there was little in the way of answers.

Earlier, he had watched the newscast online. His father had spoken with such passion and sincerity. _We would not be able to bear the loss_. It was so true. _I don't want to think about it_. _I don't want to even entertain the idea that he isn't coming back._

He turned when he heard a quiet cough. He waved as Matthew approached him, dumping his towel on a pool lounger before sitting down beside him. The water undulated as his feet slipped through the glassy surface.

"Hey," Gordon said.

"Hey, yourself," Matthew replied. "How are you holding up?"

Gordon shrugged and returned his gaze to the water.

"As well as I could expect, I guess." He shook his head. "This wasn't exactly the way we had intended your first month to pan out."

"That's the last thing we're worried about," Matthew replied. "I know there's not much we can do, but whatever we can…"

His voice trailed off and Gordon gave him a smile, though it was stiff.

"Thanks," he said. Then he reached his arms up towards the pale blue sky and stretched. "What I need right now is a bit of distraction." He dropped his arms again. "Tell me about yourself. We haven't had much time for team-bonding."

Matthew chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, there's not a lot to tell. I'm a twenty-eight year old ginger twin. I left school at sixteen with more detention slips than qualifications. Joined Óglaigh na hÉireann – that's the Irish Defence Force – though only briefly. Trained up as a firefighter, worked with the Dublin Fire Brigade for several years. Then Elijah decided to take himself off to the Central African Republic on an aid mission and I decided to follow him. Then I ended up here. That's about it."

"You and Elijah must be close," Gordon said.

"Aye," Matthew said. "We've always stuck together like paper and glue."

"Got any other family?"

Matthew turned his face down and looked at his hands. Gordon drew his eyebrows together.

"No," Matthew said. "Elijah and I were taken into care when we were five years old. We bounced around the foster system for years – luckily we always managed to stick together. They didn't mind breaking up sibling groups but if you were twins you were kind of protected."

Gordon's brow furrowed more.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's grand," Matthew said. "We're big boys now. You sort of reach a point where you have to tell yourself, 'yeah, you're a foster kid but that's not all you can be.' Elijah got that sooner than I did. Maybe if I hadn't been such a wee brat in school, I would have come away with something more than a rake of D grades and a lot of disappointment."

"Do you mind if I ask why you were taken into care?" Gordon asked. He knew he probably shouldn't have pushed the subject. However, curiosity got the better of him.

"Our ma and da were drug addicts," Matthew said. "Pretty heavily into heroin as far as I remember. They weren't fit to care for themselves, never mind us. It wasn't until we went to school that social services stepped in and took us out of it."

Gordon shook his head and tutted.

"That's rough, dude," he said.

He watched as the other man inspected his fingernails. Gordon couldn't imagine what that sort of life would have been like. He had always been surrounded by family; it was impossible not to be where the Tracys were concerned.

"Aye, it was rough," Matthew said. "I think it made me into a bit of a terror. I was so angry all the time. Angry at my parents, angry at my carers, my teachers, the social workers." He gave a curt laugh. "It's mostly my fault that we never got a permanent place. We'd get a new home and then I'd always screw it up and off we went again, traipsing around the country, trying to find somewhere to stay. I was at war with the world."

Gordon nodded and crossed his arms.

"I can understand that," he said. "Right now I feel like I could bust down every door in England until I found my brother – because I know he's still out there somewhere."

Matthew looked up.

"I know exactly how you feel. Elijah disappeared once."

Gordon blinked.

"He did?"

"Yeah. He was gone for nearly a whole day. We were about nine. I was going totally out of my mind with terror. Where was he? Why wasn't he coming back?" Matthew gave another self-depreciating snort. "To my unending shame, I think I was more concerned that he had abandoned me, rather than being worried about what might have happened to him. But I was only young."

Gordon swirled his legs around in the water. Ripples bounced off the tiled sides and travelled back into the centre of the pool.

"Understandable," he said. "Especially if you'd already experienced a kind of abandonment."

"He was found, though. I was furious with him for days afterwards." Matthew opened his mouth, as though he was going to say something more, but then thought better of it and. "Anyway, that's all in the past. You just need to make sure you stay positive in the moment. I never really got a chance to meet John but from what I've heard, he's a tenacious sort of bloke. He'll be grand."

"I hope so," Gordon said. "I really hope so."

 **~oOo~**

He wasn't in the kitchen when he woke up. Instead of the knotted kitchen chair, he was sitting on a leather couch in what he assumed was a lounge. The strangest thing, after he got past the nausea and the headache, was the fact that he felt…posed. He wasn't lying as though he had fallen asleep, or sitting with his head leaning on one hand. His body was arranged with his legs and arms crossed.

"What the…"

He unfolded his limbs and sat up straight, trying to brush off the feeling of disquiet that enveloped him. He looked down to see that he was wearing totally different clothing from before. _She's undressed and redressed me_ , he thought. His skin began to crawl again. _I feel like a living doll_.

Try as he might, he couldn't recall anything after Grace had shoved the medication down his throat. He probed the nooks and crannies of his mind but came up short – it was as if he had merely been asleep.

John brought a hand up to his mouth as the urge to vomit rose. He definitely had not merely been asleep.

Regaining his composure, he rose from the couch and started inspecting his surroundings. Heavy brown curtains were drawn over a wood-framed window and when he pulled one aside, there was only darkness to be seen. _What time is it, anyway?_ He looked for a clock and, sure enough, there was one sitting on the mantelpiece. _Seven thirty. I must have been out for a while._

Then it occurred to him. He was on his own and he wasn't trussed up. John went back to the window, heart pounding, and tried to lift the sash.

Nothing. It was stuck fast.

He tried again and again but nothing short of Thunderbird Two was going to lift it. _Dammit!_

 _Creak._

He spun around as the door opened and Grace appeared.

"Good evening," she said.

John couldn't bring himself to answer. This tongue was too thick with anger. Then he looked down at her waist; there were no weapons there. _Bingo!_ he thought. _She won't be so dangerous without her club or her gun_.

Just as he was about to spring forward, Grace stepped aside to reveal a young girl. John stilled and felt his heart rise into his throat. The girl, who looked to be a young teenager, was staring at the ground, her hands behind her back. She had dark hair that hung about her face like thick curtains, obscuring everything but a chunk of pink forehead and a thin nose.

"John, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Amelia. Amelia, say hello to John."

"Hello, John," the girl said. She did not raise her head.

Grace placed a hand on Amelia's shoulder and ushered her into the room. John took a step back and found his calves against the couch. _Nowhere to run_.

"Now, John, there's something that you need to know about Amelia." Grace stroked back her daughter's hair and tucked the long tresses behind her ears. John's stomach lurched again. While the girl was still looking down, the sorrow on her face was stark. "My daughter is very important to me. She is also very loyal. She does everything her mummy says, isn't that right, dear?"

"Yes, Mum," the girl said. Her voice was high but there was a tremble in her words.

Grace turned to John and kept his gaze for a few long seconds before, without warning, she turned and slapped the girl across the face.

"No!"

John went to leap forward but Grace held up a hand to stop him. Amelia straightened up after the blow; she had not uttered so much as a whimper. Grace walked around her daughter, keeping her eyes firmly locked on John. Then, she slapped the child again.

"Stop it!" John said. "My God, she's just a kid!"

Grace placed her hands on Amelia's shoulders again and smiled, showing two rows of creamy teeth.

"Yes. She's my child and I can do what I want with her. Amelia knows. She understands Mummy's pain and she always stays obedient. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Mummy."

The girl kept her face downcast as two red blotches bloomed on her cheeks.

"So, John," Grace said, starting to massage her daughter's shoulders lightly, "if Grace can learn, so can you. But, just to be sure, I have to tell you something more." She let go of Amelia and walked towards John, each footstep slow and calculated. "If you ever, _ever_ try to hurt me or try to escape from this house – of you ever try to defy me in any way – I'm not going to punish you. Because, John, I don't think you would learn. No, the next time you step one toe out of line, I am going to punish _her_."

John felt frustration fill his eyes and he fought hard to keep it from spilling over. _Don't show weakness_ , he thought. His fingers flexed and he looked down at his cut wrist. This was exactly why she hadn't kept him bound in chains. Now she had something much more powerful to keep him in check.

"You're sick," he said.

Grace's face darkened and she shook her head.

"You shouldn't have said that."

She spun on her heel and grabbed her daughter by the hair, dragging her out of the room. John's mouth went dry and he raced after them. Grace had pulled her daughter into the kitchen and started running the tap. Amelia didn't make a sound.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Punishing you," Grace said.

Then she shoved her daughter's head into the rapidly filling sink. Amelia began to flail and John cried out.

"No! Stop it! You'll kill her!"

"Is that what you want, John? Do you want her death to be on your hands?" Grace snarled. Her arms were like steel rods as her daughter struggled in the water.

"No, I don't! Stop it!"

"Say it. Say what I want to hear."

Amelia's struggling was becoming less and less violent. Something inside John shattered, as if he were made of glass and had been thrown on the hard ground.

"All right, all right! I'll do what you want! Whatever you want! Just leave her alone!"

Grace gave him a satisfied smirk and wrenched her daughter's head up out of the water. Amelia spluttered and gasped, taking in great whooping breaths as life returned to her.

"I'm sorry," John said, taking a step forward. Grace's ferocious gaze told him to stay back. "I'm so sorry."

Amelia kept her head down as she coughed.

"Now," Grace said, plucking a towel from the back of the kitchen door and handing it to her daughter, "I hope I have made myself very clear. Do as I say and she stays safe."

It was on the tip of John's tongue to lash out with another insult but this time, he stopped himself. Images of Amelia's head in the water flashed across his mind again. He couldn't. Grace gave him a self-satisfied smirk and motioned for him to sit down on one of the kitchen chairs again. He did hesitate for a moment but knew that he had no choice.

Amelia buried her face in the towel as her mother started rummaging in a cupboard. John watched; dread filled his lungs and he started to feel short of breath. _What now? What next?_

He wasn't expecting what he saw. Grace had pulled a battered hair shaver from the depths of the cabinet. Its silver surface was pockmarked and dull, but the razor blades looked sharp enough to draw blood. John's hand automatically went to his hair.

"Clever boy," Grace said. "Amelia, hand me that towel."

The girl did as she was told and Grace draped the sopping cloth around John's shoulders. He shivered as the cold material licked the nape of his neck.

"I think it's time for a little trim, hmm?"

Grace turned on the razor and the blades began to scream. John closed his eyes to keep his emotions at bay as the first stroke fell. Grace passed the shaver over his head in lingering lines. When he eventually opened his eyes again, his lap was full of gold.

"There, that's better," Grace said.

John brought his hand up to feel the soft fuzz that was the only remnant of his once impressive mane of hair.

No, it wasn't better.

Nothing would ever be better again.


	15. Surprise

Who knew that time could fly and drag at the same time? It was a concept Gordon could not comprehend. Three months had passed since his brother disappeared. There were days that seemed to slip past unnoticed, a flurry of rescues and hard work. Then there were the days when every second felt like an hour; one of those days had been his birthday. There wasn't a lot of love on Tracy Island that particular Valentine's Day. Instead of pink hearts and birthday candles, they had lit purple lanterns and sent them up into the sky, towards the stars that John loved so much.

Gordon snorted. Today was one of the days that dragged and he had hidden himself in the games room, shying away from even Alan's company. Sending up the lanterns had been his only birthday request. He didn't want a cake or presents; all he wanted was to send a signal to the universe. _Show my brother the way home._ It was twee and pointless but he wanted to do it anyway. He had to do something.

In the time John had been gone, some things had changed and some had stayed the same. Tin-Tin was changing every day. She was around six months gone and her swollen belly looked enormous on her slender frame. Pity swelled in Gordon's heart. This should have been the happiest time of her life. The whole family should have been revelling in the impending arrival of the first great-grandchild. No matter how they tried, though, there was always something missing. Like a smudge on a window or a single missing petal on a flower, there was always something not quite right with the picture. Gordon leaned on his pool cue and shook his head. It wasn't fair. But then again, none of this was fair.

The way International Rescue operated had also changed. Matthew had been subjected to an intense training regime for Thunderbird Five and April was his first month on solo duty in the sky. To use his own words, the man's head had been pickled with the amount of information and the speed of the training, though he seemed to cope well enough. Elijah had been training for Thunderbird Four at a slower pace but he too seemed to be a quick learner. _Not the world's most graceful driver,_ Gordon thought, _but he's doing all right._

Without much enthusiasm, Gordon potted a few pool balls. The cue clicked loudly in the silence and it sounded as though the balls were falling down an endless abyss. The arrival of the new recruits had been of more help than they would ever appreciate. With two more bodies, it meant that Alan wasn't confined to Five and also that one Tracy could be in England at any given time, waiting.

What were they waiting for? John to walk through the door of a police station? _Hey, guys, sorry to have screwed you all over for three months, but I'm back now!_ Gordon potted another ball. It was more than just waiting, he knew. It was about having someone nearby, someone who could greet their brother as soon as he appeared.

 _Or identify his body when it was found._

"Dammit!"

The cue smashed against the wall after Gordon flung it from him in a rage.

"Whoa, fella, calm down!"

He spun around to see Virgil standing in the doorway, his face creased with concern.

"I can't calm down," Gordon said, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "I'm so fucking angry. I feel like I could scream."

Virgil took a few slow steps towards him.

"I know," he said.

"I mean, we have some of the most advanced rescue equipment in the world and, when one of us needs rescuing, it's totally useless! Is that the definition of irony or what? I don't know. The one who would know is John and he's _not here!_ "

Erupting like a volcano, all Gordon could feel was anger. It spewed from every pore, burning and slicing at his skin.

Then he felt a pair of arms surround him, squeezing until he stopped shaking and felt his temper begin to recede again.

"I know," Virgil said. "There are days when he's not here and I think he's just up in Five. Then when I remember he's not, the guilt feels like knives."

Gordon returned the hug with a brief squeeze.

"I wish there was done thing we could do," he said. "Some magical technology that could zoom in on him."

"We could have done it with the edible transmitter," Virgil said, "but it was recovered with his luggage. We could maybe have done it with his watch but it was found crushed at the side of the road. It must have fallen off."

Gordon planted his hands on his hips and ground his teeth together.

"It's like the universe is conspiring to totally screw us over."

"We just have to hope and pray that he turns up somewhere - alive."

"I won't believe he's dead until we have a body to bury," Gordon said, forcing the syllables through his teeth.

"Me neither, bro. We have to keep holding on. But flying into a rage every time you think about it isn't healthy."

Gordon rankled at the criticism but forced himself to nod in agreement. Virgil was right, as always.

"I know," he said. "It's stupid and pointless and it doesn't make me feel better. I just do it without thinking."

Virgil nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"We all do, sometimes," he said. "We need to try to keep our minds off it as much as possible." He held up a hand to stop Gordon's retort. "I know that sounds callous but it's not meant that way. You need to think in terms of self-preservation. If you worry yourself into an early grave, you won't be there when John turns up so you can give him punch for disappearing."

"I guess you're right," Gordon said, allowing himself a gentle laugh. He retrieved his cue and checked it for damage. "I wonder what he's doing now?" he asked.

Virgil glanced at his watch.

"It's eight a.m. in England," he said. "Maybe he's having breakfast and plotting his escape."

"I hope so, Virg," Gordon said. Then he tossed the cue across to his brother. "Now, help distract me. Let's play."

 **~oOo~**

The toaster popped and John grabbed the jelly - or jam as the Brits called it. He snatched up the toast and grabbed a knife. Amelia would be downstairs in a few minutes and he liked to have breakfast ready for her. Her mother certainly didn't bother to ensure she was fed before school.

Cutting it up into triangles, he placed the toast on a chipped plate and started making tea. Grace hadn't complained about his habit of making her daughter breakfast. She probably didn't much care.

Sure enough, just as he was splashing milk into her cup, Amelia appeared at the bottom of the stairs and shuffled into the kitchen.

"Morning," John said.

"Good morning," Amelia replied.

And that was the extent of the conversation. The girl hid behind her hair and ate her breakfast. Then she would pick up her school bag and go and wait by the car until her mother appeared. Once Grace had bundled her into the car, ensuring that John was safely locked up in the house, she would drive off and John would have forty-five minutes to himself.

That was the only good part of the day.

After making himself a cup of dreadful freeze-dried coffee, he would sit at the kitchen table and revel in the silence. Nothing stirred within the house. There were no creaks or grumbles. There was no danger. For that forty-five minutes, he could close his eyes and almost pretend he was somewhere else.

Of course, it didn't last long. Soon enough Grace would cross the threshold, back into his nightmare. In the better days, she disappeared into her work room and left him alone. The woman made, of all things, hand-sculpted and painted figurines, often taking commissions for families who wanted something to commemorate a lost loved one.

The irony was not lost on John. Not a bit.

On the worst days, she would head straight for the kitchen and his heart would sink. The pills would be in her hand and he would dutifully open his mouth, waiting to be doped up.

What choice did he have? John stared into the mug, the lukewarm liquid lapping against its edges. He had tried to flee once more after Grace had made her threats. It had been Gordon's birthday. Valentine's Day. Something inside him had snapped. He needed to be gone, needed to be back home. He had made for the kitchen, tried to spirit away the keys, but she had caught him.

Then Amelia had paid the price. The girl was off school for three weeks after the beating she took. A new pang of guilt pressed on his head like a pair of closing jaws. _It was my fault_ , he thought. _She suffered because of me._ There was no way he could do that to her again, no way he could be responsible for such pain being inflicted in someone so young. So instead, he vowed to bite his tongue and stay in the house, falling into a macabre routine.

Not that it made things any easier. The desire to flee burned brightly and every day, he thought about what it would be like to be out in the fresh air again, what it would feel like to have a clap on the shoulder from his father, a rib-squashing hug from Gordon, or to taste the warm comfort of his grandmother's fresh-baked apple pie. He curled his hand tightly around the mug and did his best to stop his eyes from welling up. Tears didn't help. Tears weren't useful. They wouldn't change a thing.

Crying wasn't the manly thing to do. Not that he felt much like a man any more.

John sniffed and leaned back in his chair, swallowing hard. He knew that wasn't true. He wasn't any less of a person, any less of a man, because he had been subject to abuse. Suffering at the hands of someone else, being forced into submission to save the life of a young girl, was not unmanly. Maybe it was even heroic.

But it damn well didn't feel that way.

John wiped his eyes and shook his head. He had tried to imagine what each of his brothers would have done in his situation. He couldn't help but feel that they would have found a way out, discovered some kind of secret passageway or would have overpowered their captor. He knew, though, that in reality it wouldn't have been that way. When it came down to the choice of saving yourself or saving a child, every one of them would have made the same decision. Wait. Protect.

He palmed his face and sighed.

 _Why_? The question went around and around in his head. Why had this happened? What was it that he had done, whether in this life or a previous one, that made him deserve this torment? He reached up to slide his hand over the short fuzz of his hair. Grace kept it short. Somehow, that was one of the worst parts of his ordeal. He had always prided himself on his mane, carefully styling it into the most perfect shape. It was his one vain indulgence. Now it had been taken away. _It's only hair_ , he told himself.

That wasn't true. It was control. It was lack of freedom. It was being treated like a possession, and that was exactly how she saw him. She dressed him in whatever way she wanted, as though he were some kind of life-size doll. _That's all I am to her. I'm not a person. I'm a thing._

He set his mug on the table with a bang and gritted his teeth.

"I'm not a thing," he said. "I'm a person."

At that, the key turned in the lock. Desperation almost drive him to insanity. He could rush the door and just flee.

And leave Amelia behind to face the consequences? No. He just couldn't do it.

So Grace entered the house unscathed and locked the door behind her.

"Oh, John," she called out in a sing-song tone. "I have some news for you."

John didn't answer. There was no point. She didn't really want to talk to him, anyway. She just talked at him. Grace walked into the kitchen and shrugged off her coat, hanging it on one of the pegs behind the door.

"Would you like to know what it is?" she asked.

Again, John didn't answer. He simply sat on the chair and looked at her.

"I think you'll be interested in this news," Grace said, sitting down opposite him and reaching for his hand. He didn't flinch when she grabbed it. There was no point in that, either.

"Well, you know the way I've been feeling quite poorly, recently? I had my suspicions and now I know for certain. John," she said around girlish giggles, "you and I are going to have a baby. Isn't that wonderful?"

John blinked a few times and leaned in closer to her.

"Excuse me," he said, not quite believing his ears. "Could you repeat that?"

Grace lightly slapped his hand and shook her head.

"Don't be so silly. You heard me just fine. You and I are going. To. Have. A. _Baby_."

John slumped back in the chair. It felt like his brain was short circuiting. A baby. A _baby_. Grace had not noticed his near comatose state and continue to prattle on excitedly.

"I always wanted another one after Amelia and, to be honest, I thought I was a bit too old for it. But it seems not! How amazing!"

Just as before, John did not answer. This time, though, he rose from his chair and walked away. He climbed the stairs, walked down the hall and into the room that had become his own. He closed the door with care and cross the room to sit on the bed. And then he did the only thing he could do in that moment.

He burst into tears.


	16. Forces

"Okay, I'm entering the airlock now."

"F.A.B., Alan," Scott said. "Keep me informed."

Scott made a few adjustments to the thrusters to keep Thunderbird Three in place. International Rescue's aid had been requested after a research vessel ran into difficulty on its way back from Mercury. Alan had transferred to the ship to deliver vital components to bring the ship back online.

Keeping an eye on the read outs kept Scott's mind from everything else. Not long after they had blasted off, they had received a call from Tracy Island - three weeks overdue, Tin-Tin had finally gone into labour.

"I knew it would happen!" Alan had said, banging a fist on the side of the console. "As soon as we left, it would happen!"

There were few words of comfort that Scott could give.

"We've got a job to do," he had said, "but we'll do it as fast as we can."

So Alan had pouted but for once, Scott didn't rebuke him. He had every right to be annoyed about missing the birth of his first child.

Butterflies swirled in his stomach as he considered what was to come. Uncle Scott, he thought. I kind of like it. Soon the island would be filled with stuffed toys and baby cries. At last we'll have something to celebrate. These past six months have been tough.

Scott made another minor adjustment. His hand went to the comm. but he pulled it back. No matter how much he wanted to know, the channel needed to be kept clear. A flash of his mother appeared in his mind, smiling and ruffling three-year-old Alan's hair.

"It took forty-eight hours for this one to arrive!" she had said.

Tin-Tin may not even have given birth by the time they got back. For Alan's sake, he hoped not. I don't think he could take the disappointment.

Six months of pain. Six months with a hole in their family. Six months of despair.

But they had to hold on. Hope and fear were entwined around his heart. They just had to hope that one day, their brother was coming home.

He didn't have too much longer to ruminate on the subject. After an hour, Alan's voice rang out of the radio.

"Thunderbird Three from I.S.C. Intrepid," he said. "The repair has been successful. The ship is back online and the crew have confirmed that they will be able to make it home."

"Great news," Scott said.

"I'm coming back over now," Alan said. "Prepare for immediate departure. I need to get home!"

To say he was insufferable on the way back to Earth did not quite cover it. Scott gritted his teeth and concentrated on flying the ship. Alan flitted from puppy-like excitement to a pout that would put a toddler to shame.

"Why did it have to happen today?" he moaned.

Scott upped the speed as high as their fuel payload would allow.

"I'm stepping on it," he said. "We'll get you home... Daddy."

~oOo~

Wiping the last of the dishes clean, John placed it in the cupboard. The ceramic surfaces scraped together and he winced. Headaches were becoming something of a constant in his life.

"Sorry for the noise," he said.

Amelia looked up from her schoolwork and shrugged. She turned her eyes back down and her brow crinkled. John laid his hand on the closed cupboard door and shook his head.

"Physics again?" he asked.

This time, the teen didn't look up, though she nodded.

"You can ask for my help, you know," he said. "I'm pretty good with that sort of thing."

Amelia flicked her gaze up and then down again. John pushed himself away from the cupboard and eased himself into one of the kitchen chairs. He winced. When Grace was done with him, he was feeling increasingly more pain the day after. One of these days I'm just not going to wake up, he thought. And I guess sooner or later it won't just be Amelia and I who I need to worry about. He rubbed at his temples. Grace must be around six months gone now. I need to get this kid on side. She's my only way out.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

Amelia paused for a moment, before turning her data pad towards him.

"Ah, the principles of flight," he said. "I can do that. What are you trying to work out?"

Amelia shrugged her shoulders.

"I just don't get it," she said. "I missed most of the lessons because I was off school. The summer holidays start next week so I won't have time to catch up."

John's mouth tightened into a thin line and his eyes narrowed. The girl had been off school for a fortnight to recover from the injuries she had been given when she hadn't remembered to vacuum the floors and dust the surfaces.

"Okay, so we start at the start," John said. "The forces you need to consider the achieve sustainable flight are lift, thrust and drag. Lift is upward force, usually gained by the design of the aircraft's wings. Thrust is the forward motion generated by engines. Drag is the resistance of the air as you travel through it."

Amelia's eyes were on him now, round as brown moons. John gave her what he hoped as a conforming and kind smile. Her eyes flicked away for a moment but were soon back.

"Well, the question asks about the best wing geometry to use for supersonic flight..." she said.

John snapped his fingers. Amelia jumped.

"No problem," he said. "Let's talk through it."

Slowly, John edged his chair towards her. Amelia shot him a sidelong look but she didn't move away. Progress, he thought.

John took her through the reasons why two of the designs given wouldn't work, although the third would. As he sat back to give her a chance to write her explanation, John closed his eyes and rubbed his temples again.

It had been six months. Six months of pain, of torture, of torment. Six months of having his body abused, of not knowing how his family were. Are they going out of their minds with worry? Have...have they given up? He shoved that thought away. There was no way any of them would have given up on the search. They'll try everything they can to find me. And I hope they do soon.

Every day was a fresh page in a journal of agony. In some ways, he had become numb to the pain. In others, it was sometimes too much to bear. At least I can't remember most of what happens, he thought. Only hazy shapes and gossamer memories floated on the periphery of his mind. He always awoke to a crushing feeling of despair, intermingled with sorrow and desperation. I can't go on like this indefinitely. Eventually, I will snap.

Then a thought planted itself in the base of his mind. You can't afford to think that way any more. In a few months' time, you'll have a child depending on you.

He swallowed hard. John still had not come to terms with Grace's condition. Her pregnancy was developing well and, since she had no friends or family to speak of, there were no questions about the father. However, she had made it perfectly clear that she had no intention of doing the donkey work once the child was born.

"I'll choose its clothes and enjoy seeing the two of you together," she had said. "There's nothing more adorable than a father with his baby." She had giggled at that, the high, girlish sound that didn't fit her face. "However, you can take care of it. I have my work to attend to."

It had taken every ounce of strength that John had not to bite back. What about my career? What about my life? But he had stilled his tongue. The one to suffer would have been Amelia and he could not allow that to happen. So he had kept his mouth closed and simply nodded. Soon enough it would be the summer holidays and Amelia would be at home all the time. That would mean more opportunities for her mother to abuse her.

John felt his eyes well with sudden tears and he jammed his fists into his eye sockets. No.

When he pulled his hands away, Amelia was staring at him, her fingers paused above the tablet.

"Just some dust in my eyes," John said, but the catch in his voice gave everything away.

Amelia pushed the tablet away and gave him a withering look.

"I'm fourteen. I'm not an idiot," she said.

John tried to laugh and wiped the wet tracks from his face.

"Sorry," he said. "I remember how annoying it was to be underestimated as a teenager."

Amelia nodded. Then she did something John was not expecting. The girl who had been so distant, so withdrawn for the whole time he had been stuck in the godforsaken house, reached out to touch his arm.

"What my mum is doing to you is wrong," she said.

"It's very wrong," John replied. "And, no offence, but the idea of bringing another life into this house is just...terrifying."

Amelia nodded again.

"I know" she said.

"We need to get out of here."

As soon as the words were out of John's mouth, Amelia pulled her hand away and looked down at the tablet. John felt his chest tighten. Damn it, I've lost her!

"I can't leave," Amelia said. Her tone was flat. Dead. "Neither can you."

"Yes, we can," John said. "It's possible, as long as I have your help."

Amelia stood up, snatched the tablet and walked away.

"Amelia, I -"

Her footsteps thundered up the staircase and John felt more tears well. Upstairs, a door slammed. Downstairs, John laid his head on the kitchen table and didn't move for some time.


	17. Forever

Vaulting. That was the most accurate way to describe Alan's leap over the maternity ward's security barrier. They had returned Thunderbird Three to the island and, with only a brief stop to change into civilian clothing, they left again in Tracy One.

" _Oi_!"

Scott jogged up and grabbed the security officer's elbow. The man spun around, his eyes ablaze.

"Give him a break," Scott said. "His wife's going to give birth any second now."

The flames in the man's eyes were doused and shook his head, the gesture conveying that this was not a first-time occurrence.

"Well he should have been here earlier," he groused. "Do you know how much trouble I'll be in if he's a troublemaker?"

Scott gave him a sympathetic look.

"He may be a troublemaker in some ways," he said, "but right now, all he wants is to be there for the birth of his first baby."

The security officer grunted and pointed at Scott.

"Well, if there's any trouble I'll be coming for you, first," he said.

Scott gave him a sickly smile and started to walk away.

"No problem," he said.

When he reached the waiting area, it was clear that his father was wearing out the carpet with his pacing. Kyrano was sitting on one of the Spartan couches but rose when Scott entered. Jeff turned and gave his son a nod.

"Good to see you, Scott," he said. "Alan just came barrelling through here and nearly took out an orderly."

His expression flicked from worry to disapproval and back again.

"Yeah, he didn't make himself too popular with security, either. Any news."

"As far as we know, Master Scott," Kyrano said, his voice still poised and measured, but with the slightest hint of concern, "Tin-Tin is just about ready to bring her child into the world."

"That's great news," Scott said. "Just great. I hope we got here in time."

 **~oOo~**

Alan skidded to a halt outside the room Tin-Tin was in and threw himself on the door handle. He burst into the delivery suite to a sound that made his heart explode: a baby's cries.

 _His_ baby's cries.

"Alan, at last!" his grandmother said.

But Alan only had eyes for the tiny red bundle in his fiancé's arms. He went to her side as tears began to slip down his cheeks.

"Tin-Tin, I'm so sorry, I-"

Tin-Tin smiled up at him, her eyes watery but shining with joy.

"It doesn't matter, Alan, it doesn't matter. Look. Just look! It's your son."

She held the little child close to her breast and Alan found himself staggering backwards, bumping into an armchair. He flopped down into it.

"A boy. It's a boy. I have a son… A son!"

He leapt up again and ran to his grandmother's side, planting a wet kiss on the side of her head.

"Grandma, it's a boy!"

"Well, Alan, I know that," she said, a chuckle in her voice. "Don't you think you should hold him? I'll go and tell the others. Land's sakes, I'm a great-grandmother!"

Alan went to Tin-Tin's side and gave her a much gentler peck on the temple and gazed down at Tin-Tin and their child. Tin-Tin's hair was matted and her button down pyjama top was soaked with sweat. She looked exhausted and yet exhilarated at the same time.

"Tin-Tin, I'm so sorry I wasn't here. We tried, we really did."

"Oh, Alan," she said, turning her face to give him a kiss. "I think you have a valid excuse." Then she smiled at him and shifted. "Here, take him."

Alan's hands trembled as she passed the bundle to him but the moment his son was in his arms, all nerves ceased.

"Oh, my God…" he whispered.

The boy was tiny, with miniature hands that curled into themselves. A clump of tangled hair sat on top of his head and when he opened his eyes, they were like two enormous marbles staring up at him. Alan felt more tears escape.

"I know," Tin-Tin said. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"He's…perfect," Alan said. "Just perfect. Oh, Tin-Tin, this is incredible. Thank you."

Tin-Tin sat up a little but winced. She lay back on the pillow and sighed.

"You're welcome, Alan. But, I have to tell you…" she paused, then caught his gaze. "Never again!"

Alan laughed, a hearty, deep-belly sound. The little one, who had quieted in his father's arms, began to whimper and sniffle.

The door opened and his grandmother entered, the others in tow.

"Dad, Kyrano, Scott, I'd like you to meet our son."

Jeff's grin couldn't have been wider and Kyrano wiped his eyes, crossing first to give his daughter a hug, then to look at his grandson.

"It is an honour to meet you, little one," he said.

Jeff slung his arm around Kyrano's shoulders and squeezed. Alan looked over at Tin-Tin, who was grinning tiredly.

"Well, Kyrano," Jeff said. "Our kids haven't done half bad, have they?"

Kyrano nodded.

"Have you any names in mind?" Scott asked as he pulled his grandmother in for a one-armed cuddle.

"Well, we decided that if it was a boy, we were going to call him Adam," Alan said. He looked at Tin-Tin again. "What do you say, Tin-Tin?"

The young woman thought for a moment, before nodding her consent.

"Yes, I think we'll stick with that."

"Alright, Adam it is," Alan said. "And now, Adam, it's time to meet your grandfathers. Grandpa Jeff, _Datuk_ , meet Adam Tracy."

 **~oOo~**

John lay on the bed, staring up at the peeling paint on the ceiling. Occasionally, little flakes floated down, tumbling until they hit the faded blanket below. _They're giving up the fight_ , he thought. _Just letting it all go. I understand, my little flaky friends. Boy do I understand…_

With his fingers intertwined and laid on his chest, he felt like a corpse. He felt like one too. Glancing down at his protruding ribs and atrophying muscles, he huffed out a laugh. Eventually there would be nothing left of him to save. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths, trying to remember what it was like to feel the breeze on his skin or the warmth of sunlight that didn't have to struggle through a dirty window. _I haven't been outside in six months. I missed the whole spring being cooped up in here. I missed Easter. I missed Gordon's birthday, Alan's birthday, Scott's birthday… Pretty soon I'll miss Tin-Tins and then Virgil's, too._

He let his arms drop to his sides and dug his fingers into the blanket. _Did they miss me? Of course they did… Did they think of me? I'm sure they must have, but… No. No 'buts.' They're looking for you. They've got to be._

Cursing his thoughts, he wound his hands further into the bed covering until it was taut under his body. _You can't give up hope. Don't imagine that they've forgotten you because they can't. They won't. You've just got to be strong. What did Dad say? Never give up at any cost. That's what you've got to do, Tracy._

John relinquished the blankets and rolled over onto his side, tucking his hands under his head and bringing his knees up to his chest. He looked out the dirty window. Night had truly set in. The last time he had looked, it had still been light. The stars, twinkling on a background of black, were just about visible through the grime. _I wish I could visit you again, old friends_ , he thought. _But wishing never got anyone anywhere._

Trying to befriend Amelia wasn't getting him anywhere, either. He closed his eyes and sighed. The girl was too controlled by her mother, too scared of what might happen. The incident at the kitchen table had proved that. As soon as he mentioned escape, she had snapped shut, tight as a clam, and walked away from him. And who could blame her? _She's been living in this nightmare for far longer than I have. Maybe she's just not capable of getting out of here. And of course, she's only fourteen. I can't put that kind of pressure on a teenager. It isn't fair._

Not much was fair. Not much was good. John turned again and pressed his face into the pillow, lying completely prone. _I bet Tin-Tin's had her baby by now. I bet they're all celebrating. At least they'll have something to smile about._ He was struggling to get enough oxygen through the lumpy pillow but he couldn't bring himself to turn again. _I don't think fatherhood is going to bring me much joy,_ he thought. _How will I ever be able to love something that was created through hate, through exploitation? How could a kid ever find joy in life if they knew how violently they came into the world? I just don't know…_

His head starting to spin and his lung burning, John finally pulled himself onto his back again and stared back up at the ceiling. _How can I be a father to a child that I'll probably hate? What is every time I look at it, I'm just reminded of what she's done to me – or is doing to me. Hell, I could be stuck here for the rest of my life…_

No. No, he wouldn't be. He couldn't be. _I'd rather die before thirty than spend the next few decades slowly wasting away in this godforsaken house._ John thought. Then the gravity of what he had said hit him like a meteorite. _You can't think like that. Don't even entertain the idea. You've got to keep going._

The handle turned and the door crept open. John sat up, his gut clenching. _Here we go…_

Grace entered the room, her pregnant belly swathed in a loose nightgown. John frowned. There was something different, something strange about her movements. They were half-hearted, lacking the drive and calculation that she normally exuded. She didn't look at him once the door was closed again. Without a word, she crossed to the window and stared out. Her arms hung loosely at her sides.

There was silence in the room for several minutes. John refused to speak. Eventually, Grace opened her mouth.

"I'm a bad person, John," she said. Her voice was tiny, like a berated child's. "I'm a bad, bad woman."

 _Can't argue with that,_ John thought, but said nothing. _Remember Amelia_.

Moonlight strained to penetrate the window. Grace's face was eerie, pale as milk. Her eyes looked sunken and her mouth was pulled down at the corners. Her bottom lip quivered from time to time. Unbound, her hair tumbled in messy waves down her back. Her feet were bare on the floorboards.

"I wasn't always like this, you know," she said. "I was a happy child. There were no problems. My parents loved me. Or so I thought."

She turned towards him, her face half-concealed in shadow.

"Daddy left. He didn't even say goodbye. He just left me. Then Mummy started getting drunk all the time. Then she killed herself."

John's eyes widened as Grace brought up her left hand, a hand that had previously been concealed from him. The edge of a huge kitchen knife glinted. _Oh, fuck…_

"Do you think that was fair, John?" she asked, walking towards him. "Do you?"

"N-no," he said. "It wasn't fair of either of them to treat you that way."

 _I hope to God that was what she wanted to hear._

Grace slumped onto the bed beside him and laid her head on his shoulder, the knife still held limply in her left hand. John kept his eyes on it. His heart was beating so fast he could hear his pulse.

"Pet my head," Grace said.

John did as he was told. Disobedience was not usually an option but even less so in the presence of a very deadly weapon.

"They left me. They both left me and there was nothing I could do about it. Then I got married and I thought everything would be okay. But then I had three miscarriages in a row, though I finally managed to have Amelia. Things seemed okay for a few years. Then Stephen left me, too. Why do people leave me, John? What did I do that was so bad?"

John didn't respond.

"I was a good person. I always did the right thing, helped other people, studied hard, went out of my way to please everyone else. And yet, I never got anything from all that." John felt her body tighten like a coiled spring and he closed his eyes. "It wasn't fair. It was never fair."

 _Please, don't kill me…_

Her body relaxed again and John suppressed a sigh of relief.

"So, one day I decided that I would stop caring about other people. I would just take what I wanted and damn the consequences. That led to Ian, then Marcus, and now you. And, even better, now the baby." The knife shifted in her hand, picking up the faint light from the window. "Are you happy about the baby, John?"

Swallowing down the bilious feeling that crept into his throat, John nodded.

"Yes," he lied. "I am."

"Did you always want a baby?" Grace asked, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him.

"I had never really considered it," John said. "But now, I guess, it's great."

It was a battle to keep the rising inflection from his tone.

"Good," Grace said. "I'm glad. You're going to be a wonderful father, John. The best." Her face crumpled and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. "But I won't be a wonderful mother. I'm not a wonderful mother to Amelia. I'm a witch." She took up the knife and pointed it at her belly. "I don't deserve it."

" _No_!" John said. "Please, don't do it."

Tears spilled down Grace's face and her hands began to tremble.

"Will you stay with me forever?" she asked. "John Tracy, say you'll stay with me forever or I'll do it."

What followed was the longest second of John's life. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and within that second, a million thoughts went through his head. _If she does it, I can run. If she does it, she might die. I can get away. I can take Amelia away from this._

And yet.

 _I can't let her harm the baby. I know I don't want it and I know it came from violence but I can't let her harm it. It hasn't done anything wrong…_

And so.

"Yes, Grace," John said, his voice quiet. "I'll stay with you."

She turned her face to him again, her eyes wide.

"Forever?"

"Forever," John said.

The knife clattered to the floor and John gulped against tears.

"Do you mean it? Do you really want to stay with me?" Grace asked, her voice girlish and high.

Of course he hadn't meant it. Of course he didn't want to. However, what choice did he have?

"Yes, Grace, I did and I do."

She flung her arms around him with a joyous laugh and John felt his arms stiffen, before he forced himself to return her embrace.

"Oh, John," she said. "You've made me so happy. We'll be together forever!"

 _Forever_ …

 **~oOo~**

 _Datuk: Malay term for 'grandfather' or 'grandpa.'_


	18. Emergence

July. August. September. They all flew by in a blur. Every day, Adam seemed to grow a little bigger. Every day, Gordon's heart grew a little colder. On this particular October day, his heart was stone. He sat on the edge of John's bed as sunlight streamed in through the gleaming windows. He had plucked up the bedraggled bear that sat between John's two pillows and set it on his knee. There were two reasons why John had kept the toy on display and neither of those was an affinity for stuffed animals. The bear was dressed in a space suit and it had been bought for him by his younger brothers nearly two decades before.

Gordon pressed the bear's stomach, the shiny material crinkling under his touch. He remembered the day they had bought it. He and Alan had been on a trip to Cape Kennedy with their father and, as always, they just had to go visit the Space Centre. Neither of the boys were old enough to understand the displays but the one thing they knew for certain was that there was a giant mural and their dad was on it and that was _so_ _cool_.

Tracing the outline of the World Space Organisation logo with one finger, Gordon smiled. John probably couldn't have given a crap about the bear and had probably been jealous that he hadn't been along for the trip. However, the fact that it had survived all those years and still took pride of place on his bed, in a room that was otherwise bereft of trinkets and clutter, spoke volumes.

"Hey."

Gordon turned to see Virgil standing in the doorway, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

"You too?" Gordon asked as Virgil eased himself onto the bed.

"Yeah, me too," Virgil replied. His voice was quiet, lacking his usual confident baritone.

They sat for a while in quiet solemnitude. Eventually, Virgil flopped back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. Gordon followed suit.

"It's his twenty-ninth birthday today," Virgil said. "He must be going nuts, wherever he is."

Gordon brought the bear up to his chest and laid it there, turning it so it too faced the wood panel ceiling.

"He's been gone nine months, Virgil. Nine months. How does stuff like this even happen?"

"I don't have an answer for you, Gords. We just have to keep on hoping. Dad's in England now. Who knows what he might unearth? We just don't know. Today could be our lucky day."

Gordon closed his eyes as memories of birthdays past came back to him. John receiving his first telescope; the time he tripped and landed face-first in the cake; the first year he celebrated in zero-gravity. _Come home, Space Case,_ he thought. _Just come home_.

 **~oOo~**

It had all happened so suddenly. _I'll never watch a TV medical drama the same way again_ , John thought. _This is the most extreme Halloween trick I've ever had!_

One minute, Grace had been pottering about the house and the next, John was playing midwife on a pile of blankets in the middle of the kitchen floor. They had been there for six hours now, with Amelia banished to her room, and Grace showed no signs of wanting to go to the hospital.

"I really think we should call an ambulance, Grace," John said.

"No. No hospital. I can do this on my own. I don't want any help."

She screamed then, an agonised bellow that was more animal than human. Had any trick-or-treaters visited the house, they would have thought Grace had incredible Halloween sound effects. She was lying on her back, propped up on a mountain of pillows, and John was at the business end, trying desperately to remember his medical training. _I never thought I would actually have to do this!  
_  
"Grace, please -"

"No! I -"

The rest of her sentence was cut off by another scream. Her face was swimming with perspiration and when the pain passed, she clenched her fists and breathed deeply.

"It's time to push," she said. "It's definitely time to push."

John tried not to gag as the birth progressed. Natural process or not, it wasn't one he wanted anything to do with. Not even this one. _It's your child, John_ , he thought. But it didn't feel like it. He had had no conscious part in the conception and, if not for Grace's continued assaults, he would have thought it impossible. He felt some of the emotions that expectant fathers did; trepidation was the main culprit. But there was no accompanying excitement, no impending feeling of joy. _What is there to feel joy about any more?_

Grace breathed through another contraction, forcing air through her teeth as tears streamed for her eyes. Then something happened: the crown of the head appeared. John's breathing quickened and he leaned in a little closer.

"I can see the head!" he said. "Whatever you're doing, it's working!"

Within a few minutes, the whole head was delivered. His medical training kicking in from somewhere in the back of his mind, John reached out to clean the child's airways.

"Just take a rest for a minute," he said. "Just the shoulders and then it's all done."

Grace whimpered and writhed a little.

"Oh, God. Oh, God…"

John reached out to look at the face of his child, red and wrinkled, its eyes screwed shut. Then Grace began to bear down once more and within minutes, John had the wiggling little bundle in his arms. There was blood everywhere, soaking the towels and sheets and covering him from fingertip to elbow.

"What is it?" Grace asked, panting. "What is it?"

John knelt for a moment simply looking down at the child in his arms. Then he snapped back to life again and wrapped it in a blanket.

"It's a girl," he said, sitting back on his haunches. "It's…a girl."

The child started to wail and something inside John clicked. It was as though he had been underwater and had finally broken the surface, gulping sweet air into his lungs.

Holding the tiny bundle in his arms, he knew what he had to do.

 **~oOo~**

"Take care of her," Grace had said once the placenta had been delivered and she lay in a heap on the floor, panting. "I'm in no shape to do it."

 _But I am_ , John thought as he clutched the screaming child to his chest, placenta and all – _a lotus birth, or so I read_ , he thought. He soaked in her warmth and love and _life_. Feeling power for the first time in so long, John turned away, leaving Grace on the pile of gory blankets.

Trembling at the thought of what he was about to do, he kept his pace slow as he ascended to his room. _When did I start thinking of this as my room?_ he thought. _My room is on Tracy Island._ He laid the infant on the bed, still red and swaddled with bloody towel, and started rummaging in the pile of baby things that Grace had been stockpiling. Everything had been shoved into this bedroom since, as Grace dictated, John would be the primary caregiver. _And I'm going to do the best that I can_ , he thought.

He grabbed what he needed – reading all those baby books that Grace had given him hadn't been a waste after all – and unwrapped the child. She had stopped crying and was instead making little keening sounds, her arms reaching upwards, her little fists clenching and unclenching.

"I need to get you to a hospital, little one," he whispered.

Her skin was covered in a creamy substance – _vernix_ ; _thank you '1-2-3: Baby and Me'_ – but regardless, he managed to diaper her (it wasn't neat, but who cared?) and then dressed her in a lilac all-in-one suit, keeping the afterbirth swaddled separately. _I have no idea if this is a good idea or not,_ he thought. _But it's what I'm doing…_ He bundled her up in blankets and started throwing things into a diaper bag. _I'm going to have to convince Amelia to come with me. If I don't, I can't go_.

At that, the teenager appeared in the doorway. Slowly, she approached the bed and stared down at her half-sister.

"Amelia," John said. "We have a chance. You mom is in no condition to come after us. We need to go and we need to go _now_."

The girl's head snapped around, her eyes cloaked in fear.

"We can't –"

"No, Amelia, we _can_. This is the perfect opportunity, and –" his voice caught as he looked at the little writhing figure on the bed. "I can't let her experience life in here. I need to get her out and I need to get you out, too."

Amelia began to tremble and clenched her fists at her sides.

"John, no. I'm scared. We can't – You know what she'll do!"

John stood up and grasped her forearms; he realised his own were still splattered with the detritus of birth.

"That's just it. She can't do anything right now. We can run." He lowered himself so that they were eye to eye and tried to convey everything with a look: hope, despair, need, possibility. "We can get out."

Tears were brimming in her eyes but she held his gaze.

"John…"

"Amelia, I will get you out. I will protect you. I promise. I've been waiting for the chance and now it's come. Everything will be all right. I just need you to trust me."

There was a pause that lasted an ice age. Eventually, Amelia nodded.

"Okay."

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. John squeezed her arms and nodded back.

"Good girl. Now, I need you to take the bag and the baby and go wait by the front door. I'll do the rest."

"But I've never even held a baby before," Amelia said, wiping her eyes.

"Up until an hour ago, I hadn't either. But it's not so bad. If I can do it, so can you."

The teenager nodded and John crossed to the bed. He lifted the baby, unconsciously starting to coo softly at her, and placed the bundle in Amelia's arms.

"Make sure you keep the head supported – that's it." He slung the bag over her skinny shoulders. "Now, quiet as you can, down the stairs and wait by the door. I'm going to get the car keys. Do you have a cell phone?"

She looked at him in confusion for a moment before realisation dawned.

"Oh, you mean a mobile? No, I don't have one. But there's an in-car phone in Mum's car."

"Good. I'll need to make a few calls."

Glancing around the room for what he hoped, begged, _prayed_ would be the last time, his whole body began to shake. _I'm getting out. At last, I'm getting out. I never want to see this place again._

Amelia was waiting for him in the doorway. He schooled himself and gave her a curt nod.

"Let's go."


	19. Flight

They descended the stairs on feather-light feet and Amelia did as she was told. She waited at the door, framed by the darkness that painted the front door's windows. John breathed in deeply and walked to the kitchen.

Grace was still on the floor, her eyes closed and her arms hanging loosely by her sides. When John entered she didn't open her eyes. At least, not until she heard the jingle of her keys as John extracted them from her coat pocket.

"What are you going?" she snarled.

"Leaving," John said.

And he turned on his heel.

"What? You can't! You can't leave! You-"

He did not look back. He did not witness her scrambling on the floor, desperately trying to pick her exhausted body up from the floor. He did not pause as he turned the key in the lock and stepped out into the crisp October evening.

For a nanosecond, he paused, allowing a million sensations to wash over him. The iciness of the air as the wind howled. The tang of gunpowder in the air from fireworks. And, best of all, the wide sweep of stars that hung in the sky above them.

" _You can't do this to me!_ "

Grace's scream reverberated through the clear air as John strapped himself into the driver's seat of the Vauxhall estate car, slid it into gear, and finally drove away from the house.

Amelia sat in the back seat, a seatbelt covering both herself and the baby in her arms. It was totally unsafe – but the baby stood a better chance of survival in the car than in that godforsaken house.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The motorway," John said.

He fumbled with the controls of the car phone and punched 999 into the keypad. It rang for a few moments until an operator picked up.

" _999, what service do you require?_ "

The woman's voice was crystal-clear through the car's speakers.

"Police, please," John said, trying to keep his tone under control as fear and elation threatened to turn his voice into a squeak. "And ambulance."

" _What's the emergency?_ " the woman asked.

John paused for a moment, looking at Amelia through the rear-view mirror. She gave him the tiniest of nods.

"Well, you're not going to believe this, but my name is John Tracy and I've been missing for nearly a year. I've managed to break free and I have two youngsters with me – a fourteen year old and a new born. We need assistance."

He couldn't believe the officious tone that crept into his voice as he spoke. It was like he was back with International Rescue all over again. _Just like riding a bike_ , he thought.

There was a pause as the operator took in what he had said.

" _Okay, John, tell me where you are now_."

"We're in transit. I'm driving away from – where the hell are we anyway?" he asked.

"Walden South," Amelia said, shifting the baby in her arms. "You need to turn left at the bottom of this road and that'll take you to the motorway."

" _We're somewhere called Walden South_ ," John repeated. " _We're heading towards the M11 driving a silver Vauxhall estate car – I don't know the model_."

"It's an Ederra," Amelia said.

"It's a-"

" _I got that, John,_ " the woman said. " _Can you pull over and await assistance_?"

"Not a chance," John said. "I'm not stopping until there's a fleet of cop cars between me and that house."

" _Okay, John, stay on the line and –_ "

"No can do," John said. "There's another call I have to make."

" _John, no –"_

But John disconnected the line. He looked at Amelia again. She was staring at him, confusion glinting in the darkness.

"I think I can trust you, kid," he said, "seeing as you trusted me."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

With one eye on the dark country lanes and the other on the car phone's control panel, John punched in a code that he had never had to use before. _For emergencies only_ , was the directive. _Well, this definitely counts as an emergency_.

Just as he inputted the last digit of the code that would connect him to Thunderbird Five, a set of blinding headlights flew into view from behind. A car roared up to his driver's side and John's stomach lurched.

"It's Mum!" Amelia screeched.

Grace's face, twisted with fury, was staring at them through the car windows and John just about had time to jerk the wheel as she steered the car directly towards them. The car bodies ground and he floored the accelerator just as the on-slip for the motorway came into view.

"Fuck you," John snapped.

" _Umm, International Rescue?_ " a voice said over the radio. " _Receiving you strength five. Go ahead._ "

By the time they hit the motorway, the speedometer needle was pushing one hundred. There were few cars on the road. _Small mercies_ , John thought.

"International Rescue?" Amelia asked, her words coming out as a gasp.

John didn't spare her a glance as Grace pulled her car up beside them again, once more trying to force them off the road. John managed to nose the car up to one hundred and five and pulled into the lane in front of her. The other cars on the road were nothing more than little blips as he soared past.

"Alan, is that you?" John asked. "It's John. _It's John_. Get me through to Dad, now!"

"Umm – what – who – _how_?" the voice spluttered. "It's not Alan it's – Christ, it doesn't matter. _John_! Patching you through now!"

"John, what's going– agh!"

Amelia's question was cut off when Grace managed to nudge the back of the car with her front bumper. John felt the vehicle buck and shift but managed to keep it under control. _Please don't crash, please don't crash…_

" _JOHN_." His father's voice was two parts joy and two parts disbelief. " _Son, where are you? What happened? How –_ "

"Look, Dad," John said, swinging the car into the nearside lane and praying hard, "I don't have time to explain. All I want you to know is that I'm alive – but to be honest, I might be about to get run off the road by a crazed lunatic!"

" _Where are you, son?_ " Jeff asked.

"I'm on the M11 motorway in England, just where I was when I disappeared," John said. "The woman who took me his currently trying to murder me and her daughter _and_ your granddaughter."

" _My_ what?"

"No time to explain!" John said. "Look, I just want you to know –"

The needles in the dash were close to maxing out. One bump in the road, one miscalculation, and they were going down in a fiery ball.

" _John_!" This time it was Virgil's voice that came over the radio. " _What in the name of blue blazes is going on? Matthew patched me in_. _Where the hell are you?_ "

"England, M11. Look, just –"

" _Virgil, alter your return course_ ," Jeff barked. " _John, son, Thunderbird Two is over mainland Europe. Virgil will be with you in –_ "

" _Four and one-half minutes_ ," Virgil said. " _Hold on, Johnny, we're coming!_ "

" _Yeah_!" It was Gordon. " _We're on the way_!"

" _And I'll be there in two_!" Now Scott.

John could not allow himself to process the feelings of pride and love that were swelling inside him. All he could do was focus on keeping the car on the road as Grace pushed up again, flicking her high-beam lights on and off with fury.

"Make it fast, guys," he said. "I'll be the car driving at ridiculous speed and hopefully not lying in a crumpled pile at the side of the road."

Grace fell back a little as they approached a bend. In the distance behind them, John could see a cavalcade of flashing blue lights. Inside the car, Amelia began to whimper as the baby started to wail.

"It'll be all right," he said. "My brothers are coming to the rescue."

 **~oOo~**

"Holy hell," Gordon said, pacing up and down the cabin as Virgil opened up the throttle and pushed Thunderbird Two to her limit. "I can't believe it. I just… What is going on?"

"I don't know," Virgil said. "All I know is that he's in trouble but we can finally do something about it!"

Gordon stared out the window as they crossed the English coastline and Virgil started to descend.

" _Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One_."

"Receiving you loud and clear, Thunderbird One," Virgil said.

" _Virg, I can see the cars. John must be flooring it – easily one hundred and ten. At that kind of speed, a crash will be fatal. The other car is doing its best to run him off the road. The police are keeping their distance and won't deploy stingers for cars at that speed_. _We need to get him safely off the road and I can't risk trying to shoot out the other car. They're neck and neck._ "

"I have an idea, Scott," Virgil said. He turned to Gordon. "Rapid evac. I'll drop my speed to match his and Gordon can shoot magnetic lines onto the car roof. Once we're attached, I'll lift the car off the road."

"Is that safe?" Gordon asked.

" _Safer than what's happening right now_ ," Scott said. " _Okay, Virgil, do it_."

Gordon did not need to wait to be told. He was already in the bowels of Thunderbird Two before Virgil even opened his mouth.

"John, are you still with us?" Virgil asked.

" _Just about_ ," John said.

"I'm approaching your position now. Try and keep her steady – straight line and maintain speed."

" _Easier said than done_ ," John said. " _But I'll try_."

Virgil gulped against the joy that was rising inside him.

"Gordo, are you in position?"

" _F.A.B., Virg_ ," Gordon said. Virgil could hear the wind whipping through the comm. system. " _Keep her steady_."

"Get those lines down as fast as possible. One front, one back, as central as you can. Yell as soon as they're down and I'll bring us up."

" _F.A.B_."

 **~oOo~**

Gordon's goggles pressed hard into his face as he steadied his grip on the magnetic grapple launcher. He took a few deep breaths, trying to bring his thundering heartbeat under control. _No time to waste_ , he thought. _Let's do this!_ He lined up his shot and –

"Okay, line one away!"

It connected. _Score!_

"And… Line two away. We have contact both times, Virgil. Take us up!"

And so, Gordon watched as the silver car soared into the air underneath them, swinging on the lines, and on the road below, a swarm of blue lights enveloped the car that had been so desperately trying to run his brother off the road.

"Are you okay down there, Johnny?" Gordon asked. Then he listened carefully. Was that… _a baby crying?_

" _I – I think so, Gordon. Just get us down on the ground again._ "

" _Yessir_ ," came Virgil's voice, and with that, Thunderbird Two began to slow and turn.

 **~oOo~**

"You're one of the _Thunderbirds_?" Amelia asked, her mouth agape and her eyes wide.

The car was swinging on the lines Gordon had deployed but they were holding steady. John finally released his foot from the accelerator and felt waves of relief wash over him.

"Yeah, I am," John said, reaching through the gap between the front seats to reclaim his baby.

 _My baby_ , he thought. _I have a baby._

"That is…amazing," Amelia said.

At that, John let out a raucous belly laugh and put the wailing child on his chest.

"Of all the things that have happened today, that's what you find amazing," he said. She stared at him, giving the tiniest shake of the head.

Then she launched herself forward and flung her arm around his shoulders, leaning awkwardly between the seats.

"Thank you," she said.

John shifted the baby and little and turned to he could press a kiss to the teenager's forehead.

"Thank you for trusting me," he said.

She pulled back and there were fresh tears in her eyes.

"Will everything be okay now?" she asked.

John nodded, even if he didn't feel as sure as he looked.

"Yes, Amelia. Everything will be just fine."

The sensation of sitting in a car that was hanging from two lines below an enormous aircraft was nothing but strange. When the wheels hit the ground, John pushed open the door. He watched as a flood of emergency vehicles stormed towards them. Most important of all, however, was the sprinting figure in blue that streaked across the roadway from Thunderbird One.

"John! John!"

Never before had John been hugged so hard in his life and he twisted around a little to protect the baby. Amelia stepped in and took her. John flung his arms around his older brother and squeezed, drinking in the presence that he had been bereft from for so long.

"Jesus, Johnny. Jesus Christ…"

Thunderbird Two's engines powered down as they embraced and within a minute, two more sets of arms had enveloped him. He was being utterly crushed and he could not have been happier.

"You're back," Gordon said. "You're really here!"

"I'm… I'm really here," John said, though it sounded more like a question.

The four brothers gradually extricated themselves from one another as a medical crew arrived. John waved them off and pointed to Amelia and the baby.

"Them first. The little one was only born a matter of hours ago."

"The little one?" Virgil asked. "John, what…?"

John felt his knees go weak and he started to slip towards the ground. Three sets of hands were on him before he could hit the deck.

"It's… It's a very long story," he said as a feeling of complete weariness overtook him. "A very, very long story."

He looked at each of his brothers, catching each of their gazes in turn.

"Thank you," he said.

There were no other words to say.


	20. Fallout

Sirens wailed. Blue lights flashed. Somewhere in the distance, a bright green firework exploded, long tendrils stretching out and dissipating in a gentle rain of colour. John leaned heavily on Virgil's arm as the world began to swim.

Everything was so intense, like a whirlwind of light and dark, sound and sensation. It took an inordinate amount of effort just to keep his breathing steady. His legs betrayed him; without warning, the only thing keeping him upright was Virgil's arm.

"Easy, easy," Virgil said.

"I'm okay," John replied. "I just need to sit down."

Gordon scooped up his other elbow and John found himself being ushered to a waiting ambulance. The paramedic motioned for him to sit on the step at the rear of the vehicle.

"Well," the medic said, "that was intense just to watch. I think I need a sit down too!" His attempt at humour fell flat. He jerked a thumb at Gordon and Virgil, who were lingering at John's side. "Good thing these guys were in the neighbourhood. I didn't think stopping high-speed police chases was International Rescue's thing."

Virgil coughed and motioned for Gordon to step away.

"Well," he said, "it's usually not. But sometimes we make exceptions. We always do whatever we can to save lives."

Overwhelmed as he was, John was still able to pick up on the cue.

"I'm sure glad you did," he said. He tried to stand but the paramedic pressed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Thanks, International Rescue. I owe you one."

He could tell Gordon was using all his strength to stop himself running in to give John another hug. Instead, he nodded.

"Any time," he said. "Any time."

Keeping up the charade, he and Virgil walked away, although they cast concerned glances back at him. John gave the tiniest wave with his left hand.

"Well, now. John, isn't it?" the paramedic asked. "I'm Ahmad. Can you tell me a bit about how you're feeling? Can you tell me what's happened?"

Such simple questions. Such complicated answers.

John watched his brothers reluctantly walk away, pretending that they were strangers. He felt memories of the past ten months overwhelm him like a maelstrom. He thought about Amelia, about the little baby, about Grace. His breath came in rapid gasps as a wave of utter desolation engulfed him and he put his head in his hands.

 **~oOo~**

When he saw his brother put his head in his hands, Gordon turned to run back to him. Virgil grabbed his arm and shot him a warning look.

"We can't," he said, though his tone was sympathetic. "I know it's tempting but we can't reveal that he's associated with International Rescue."

Temper flaring, Gordon snorted.

"It won't take more than a few brain cells to figure it out already," he spat. "We came barrelling in to his rescue, in full view of all of those cops and paramedics!"

"I know, I know," Virgil said. "Even so, we need to get out of here and act as normal as possible. Then we'll regroup."

At that moment, Scott jogged over to them, a plain clothes police officer in a flak jacket on his heels.

"This is DI Campton," he said.

But of course, they all knew that. Each one of them had met him at some point since John's disappearance, taking their turn to be the one in England, awaiting news – good or bad. _Grandma's here with Penelope,_ Gordon thought. _We'll need to tell her._

"I've been working your brother's case since the start," Campton said.

It took all of Gordon's restraint not to bite back with a witty retort. _Well, you didn't do such a great job, did you?_ But he managed to hold his tongue.

"I don't _officially_ know why you're all here," he said, then dropped his volume to protect from prying ears, "although I could probably guess."

Gordon shot Virgil a look and folded his arms. _Told you so._ Scott intervened before either of his younger brothers could speak.

"As this is an... _unusual_ use of International Rescue equipment," he said, "DI Campton has agreed to feed the story to the media that we picked up on police transmissions, happened to be in the area and decided to step in to prevent a deadly crash."

Campton nodded.

"I think they'll buy it. Some of the gossip pages may speculate otherwise but the broadsheets will run the story as-is. I have a good friend who has some influence in the area. She can be very… _persuasive_ ," he added with a wistful smile.

 _Penelope_ , Gordon thought.

"Otherwise," Campton continued, "the media will be more concerned with the details of the crime - though as yet we don't even know what exactly has happened. The victims will be taken to the hospital and we're bringing the suspect in." He glanced over Gordon's shoulder to catch a glimpse of John. "We'll notify his next of kin," he said, though he knew full well that they were already aware.

"You might want to call your _friend_ , too," Gordon said.

Campton gave a quick nod.

"I think I will."

He reached out to shake each of their hands, continuing the pantomime of ignorance.

"Thank you for all your help, International Rescue," he said loudly. "We really appreciate it."

"Just doing our jobs," Scott said, sounding every inch the detached hero.

Campton smiled before he turned away. Gordon uncrossed his arms and glanced back at John again. He was being checked over by the medic; even from a distance, Gordon could see his body tremble. His heart ached.

"I want to stay here," he said. "I'll change into my civvies and slip off. Penelope and come pick me up."

"Gordon, I -"

" _No_ , Scott," Gordon said.

His older brother's eyes widened at his assertion, though Gordon remained firm.

"No one at the hospital will recognise me, bar Campton, if he's even there. It's dark and we've only been seen from a distance - apart from by the ambulance crew, who aren't going to hang around the hospital. By the time I get there, they'll be off on another call. I'm staying, Scott, and that's the end of it."

Instead of the irritation he expected to receive, Scott gave Gordon a strange look. Was it pride?

"Okay, Gords," he said. "I give in. Virgil and I will go back to the island. You meet up with Grandma and Penelope. Then we'll figure out what to do next. We'll all want to see John but we can't leave IR unmanned."

Gordon turned around to catch John's eye but he had already been loaded into the ambulance. Gordon was just in time to see the door slam shut. Suddenly, a haze of fear came over him again. Seeing his body tense, Virgil placed a hand on Gordon's arm again.

"He's still there," Virgil said.

Gordon nodded, though in truth, he had had enough of his brother being out of his sight. He certainly hadn't been out of his mind.

 **~oOo~**

By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, camera crews were already swarming around the Princess Alexandra Hospital's Accident and Emergency entrance. John silently thanked the police escort as they tried to drive the reporters back as he tried to hide inside the rescue blanket he had been wrapped in. _I don't want to see my face all over the news,_ he thought. _Haven't I been through enough?_

As he was guided through to a cubicle, a clinical tang hanging heavy in the air, he looked out for Amelia or the baby - but could see neither.

"Where are the others?" he asked. "Where's the teenager and the baby that were with me?"

"They're being taken care of," Ahmad said, giving him a reassuring smile. "You just need to worry about yourself, for now."

John was ushered up onto a bed. Everything was suddenly swathed in blue as Ahmad drew the curtains around him. It did nothing to dull the wails of distressed patients and crying children. He lay back; the paper covering on the mattress crumpled beneath his weary body.

The metal curtain hooks scraped on the bar as a doctor entered, carrying a data tablet. Ahmad gave John a little salute and left, drawing the curtain closed again.

"Okay, John, I'm Doctor Bateman," the new figure said. "I'm just going to give you an initial check over."

There was something about her that made John's blood run cold. Mid-forties. Brown hair that reached her shoulders. She looked at him with kindness in her eyes but nevertheless, John's breath began to quicken. Her expression folded with concern and she approached. John scrambled back on the bed, pressing himself into a corner as his chest heaved. She reached out to him –

" _Don't touch me_ ," he said. "Stay away!"

Doctor Bateman didn't step forward again. Just then, the curtain flew back and a diminutive figure barrelled in.

"What are you doing to my grandson?"

John didn't think his eyes could widen any more. _What's happening here?_

Grandma Tracy held her purse up as though it were a weapon. Doctor Bateman stepped back, now frowning.

"Excuse me, who are you?"

"I'm his grandmother," Grandma Tracy said. "I answered your question, so you answer mine. What are you doing to my grandson?"

"I haven't done anything," Doctor Bateman said, holding up her hands in yield, tablet and all.

John tried to uncoil his muscles and pulled away from the wall to perch on the edge of the bed.

"It's okay, Grandma," he said. "I just… She looked like someone else."

Grandma threw her bag on the floor and pulled her grandson into a full-bodied hug. John immediately stiffened – _don't touch me!_ \- but he willed himself to return the embrace. _It's your grandmother,_ he thought. _She's not going to hurt you._ Gradually, he thawed and melted into the hug.

"Oh, John," she said, her voice thick with tears, "I thought we had lost you."

She was everything that he had missed. She smelled like home, like family.

Like love.

Try as he might, John could not stop the grief from building in his eyes.

"I started to think I would never come home again," he said.

For a woman in her eighties, Grandma Tracy had a fierce strength as she embraced him.

"We were all so worried," she said.

Eventually she released him, fished a handkerchief out of her discarded bag and dabbed at her eyes.

"What happened? Where have you been all this time? What happened to your _hair_?"

Doctor Bateman was starting at them, looking like she wasn't sure whether to remain or escape. John opened his mouth but closed it again without speaking. Reality struck like a brick; he ran his hand over his stubbly head, trying to feel a ghost echo of the long locks that used to grace his head. _How can I tell her what happened to me? How can I tell any of them? What will they think of me? What…what if they think I'm weak?_

Fury bubbled up and displaced the sorrow. Grandma Tracy saw his expression darken and a flash of fear crossed her face.

"We can talk about it later," she said, her tone gentle. "Maybe now isn't the right time." She turned to look at the doctor and then returned her gaze to him. "Will you let this young lady take a look at you?"

Doctor Bateman gave a mild smile.

"It's been a long time since anyone called me young," she said.

Grandma Tracy waved a hand.

"When you get to my age, everyone else in the world is young in comparison," she said.

John breathed in slowly, allowing the air to fill his lungs and escape again, taking some of his anxiety with it. _It's not her_ , he thought. _It's just a doctor. It's not Grace_.

"Okay," he said at length. "You can examine me. There's not much to look for, anyway. I'm fine."

 _Physically_. He batted that thought away.

"Well, you don't look 'fine'," Grandma said, wagging a finger at him. "Not the normal definition of fine, anyway. You're about as 'fine' as your brother was after his hydrofoil accident."

John shook his head, unable to prevent a slight grin from gracing his face. He looked down at himself, taking in his bloodied hands and arms, the way his clothes hung from his emaciated frame, the fact that his feet were bare and calloused – he hadn't worn shoes since _January._

"Okay, Grandma," he conceded. "Maybe I'm not fine."

His breath caught in his throat and he brought a hand up to stifle the sounds of 'weakness' that threatened to escape. _You're free now_ , he thought. _You should be celebrating_.

But the shadow of Grace hung over him, dark and cold, consuming his very thoughts. His entire life, for _nearly a year_ , had revolved around her. He had pandered to her every whim, allowed her to abuse his body. She had even stolen his very genes by allowing herself to fall pregnant. He felt pang of terror. _Where's the baby? Where's_ my _baby?_

He slumped back against the wall and his grandmother's hands were on him. He could see her lips moving but he couldn't hear any sound. Everything was blurry, as though he was phasing out of reality, disappearing like sand whipped away on the wind.

 _Maybe I'm not fine at all._


	21. Admission

John wrapped his hands around the plastic cup to try and quell his shaking. The water inside rippled as he stared into it. Even in the tremulous surface, he could clearly see despair and exhaustion etched into his face. _I look ten years older_ , he thought. He ran a hand over his shaved head again. _Worse, I look like a criminal._ He choked out a laugh. _Pretty apt, considering I'm in a cop shop._

From his side, Gordon leaned in and gave him a confused look, one eyebrow raised.

"You okay there, Johnny?" he asked.

John waved off the concern.

"Yeah, I just think I look like a felon," he said.

Gordon did not laugh. He did not crack even the faintest of smiles. John shook his head but before he could speak again, the door of the interview room opened. The sharp crack of the handle made him jump up from the couch. The cup of water jerked out of his hands; the contents spilled over the grey coffee table.

"God, sorry," John spluttered, making a desperate attempt to mop it up. _With what, your hands?_ he thought. _Get a hold of yourself!_

Such a small event caused a volcano of emotion within him and it took a moment to regain his composure. Gordon and the officer who had entered quickly mopped up the water with tissues while John sat with the empty cup still in his hands.

"Would you like another?" the officer asked. John shook his head. The officer slid the sodden tissues off the table and into the bin. He smiled. "Never worry. I'm D.I. Campton. I believe we have a mutual friend - Lady Penelope."

John managed a dry smile and a slight nod.

"Yeah, she's a close family friend of ours," he said, motioning to his sibling. "This is one of my brothers. Gordon."

A strange look passed across Campton's face and he paused for a microsecond before reaching over to shake Gordon's hand.

"Yes, so I was told. Just flew in, I expect?" he asked.

Gordon nodded.

"Yeah. I came as soon as we heard the news."

John looked between the two men for a moment, feeling a strange tension in the air. Then it hit him. _They've already met. Campton must have seen Gordon in his IR uniform. Well, the cat is well and truly out of the bag. I just hope this Campton is trustworthy..._

"So," the inspector said, sitting on one of the armchairs and tapping his tablet, "what we need at the moment is a preliminary statement. I need you to recount for me what went on in that house, what you know about Grace Thomas."

John gulped and from the look Campton gave him, it must have been obvious.

"I know that it will be difficult but I do need you to be as clear, honest and detailed as possible."

John's face crumpled and he looked at Gordon, wishing that his younger sibling could do something, anything, to help him in that moment.

"It's okay, Johnny," he said. "I'll be here."

John tilted his head down and closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"All right," he said quietly. "I guess I should start at the very beginning."

 **~oOo~**

Big brothers are not supposed to look helpless. Big brothers are not supposed to look at you with doleful eyes, begging you to take the pain away.

If he hadn't been raised as a moral man, Gordon Tracy would have marched through the police station, found the cell where the bitch was being kept - or if she was held elsewhere, the hospital or another station - and wrung her neck. That look in John's eyes that said everything without a word - _please, Gords, just take me away from all this_ \- broke his heart clean in two. _What do I say? What do I do?_

Hesitantly, Gordon answered the only way he could.

"It's okay, Johnny. I'll be here."

At that, his brother ducked his head and closed his eyes and looked as if all the sorrow in the world had landed on his shoulders. Gordon gulped against his frustration. _I wish I could kill her. I wish I could._

John closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage, and Gordon willed whatever entity that existed in the afterlife, or netherworld, or whatever it was, to grant his brother strength. _You too, Mom._

"All right," John said. It seemed to take a monumental effort to form each syllable. "I guess I should start at the beginning."

And thus began the heart-breaking account of his brother's ten months in captivity. Gordon did his best to stay as calm as possible. It took a Herculean effort not to explode. At first, it was the world-weary tone that John spoke with that upset him the most. _He sounds...broken. Where has my brother gone?_

When he heard about John being handcuffed to a bed, a lump formed in Gordon's throat. Then John shuddered, his words stuttering on the way out.

"Then... Then..."

Suddenly his head was in his hands and the silence in the room felt down like a ton weight on Gordon's shoulders.

"We can take a break any time," Campton said, his voice soft.

After a moment, John raised his head and breathed in deeply.

"No," he said, exhaling slowly. "I'm okay. It's just… It's all a bit of a blur, really, because... She said it was flunitrazepam."

"What?" Gordon could not stop himself from interjecting. "Why was she giving you roofies?"

And then it all came together. John couldn't look at him any longer, couldn't raise his head. Gordon felt like his heart had been broken before; this time it truly shattered. _No... Please, God, no._

"I don't remember a lot of what happened in between being drugged and waking up a few hours later," John said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But there are images, vague memories and feelings at the back of my mind. I-I know what she did to me – kept doing to me."

His voice wavered then. Gordon reached out to place a steadying hand on his shoulder. John still wouldn't look up.

"I know this is difficult," Campton said, "but I do need you to be specific."

For the first time since he started his recount, John managed to raise his eyes. He looked at Gordon, cowed and beaten, and mouthed something that looked disturbingly like _I'm sorry_.

Eventually, he could speak again.

"I was unconscious most of the time because that's how she liked it," he said. "She liked to be in complete control, to treat me like… like a giant rag doll. It was a power thing. She liked to be able to do whatever she wanted, take whatever she wanted... So she would drug me and then..." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "She would sexually assault me."

Even though he had already guessed it, the bottom dropped out of Gordon's world when he heard those words coming from his brother's lips. Within a few seconds, his brain ran through a gamut of emotion. Sorrow. Hate. Fear. Sympathy. Unadulterated rage. John dropped his head again and Gordon moved his hand to the back of his brother's neck, willing some kind of comfort to transfer through his fingers.

"How often did this happen?" Campton asked. His tone was neutral but his eyes were hard.

John swallowed audibly again and shrugged. Gordon kept his hand in place, rubbing lightly.

"Nearly every day," John said. Then his head snapped up and Gordon withdrew his hand. John was staring at him, eyes wide and glistening. "I couldn't stop it. I couldn't get away. You have to understand. I tried once. She said she would kill Amelia if I tried again. She nearly drowned her _in front of me_. Once I snapped and tried to get away again and she beat that poor child half to death." John sucked in a whooping breath. "I couldn't leave. I couldn't get out. I had to... I had to let her do whatever she wanted because I couldn't let her harm that kid again. She's been through hell for her entire life and, damn it, I wasn't about to let her suffer more because of _my_ actions. Then when Grace got pregnant, she threatened to harm the baby. She made me promise I would never leave her. I did try to get away. I really did. But... She had my hands tied, literally and figuratively. I couldn't..."

There it was. Gordon didn't think his heart could shatter into any more pieces, but it did. The way John was looking at him, his expression pleading… _He's asking for forgiveness!_

Interview be damned, Gordon swept his brother into a hug and squeezed like he would never let go. Frail as he looked, John's arms tightened like a vice.

"I'm sorry," he said into Gordon's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should have done more. I should have found a way. I'm sorry!"

"Shh, Johnny, shh," Gordon crooned. "None of this is your fault. None of it."

What more could he say? What magic words did he have that would make everything better?

None. That was the stark reality. Nothing could make this better.

Campton tapped his tablet's screen and rose.

"I'll give you two a minute," he said, before rising and walking to the door.

Gordon mouthed a silent, _Thank you_. The inspector nodded before slipping out of the room.

John pulled away slowly. His face was blotchy and he looked as though he was about to spew his guts.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Before he could continue, Gordon raised a hand.

"You don't need to apologise to me or anyone else," he said. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"I should have escaped sooner," John said, his eyes widening with each syllable. "I should have just left. I shouldn't have let her do that to me."

His gaze began to dart into every corner of the room, at the cracks in the ceiling, the waxy-leafed potted plant in the corner, anywhere but at Gordon's face. His breathing was erratic, hitching and strangled. Gordon planted his hands on John's shoulders to try to bring him back to Earth.

"John, look at me." No response. He snapped his fingers. " _Look at me_!"

This time, John did as he was told, though the terror in his eyes made Gordon feel like a monster.

"You. Did. Nothing. Wrong," he ground out. "If that bitch threatened to harm a child if you left, how could you escape? How could you leave, knowing what would happen? None of us could have done that. You put the life of someone else above your own in order to keep her safe. Just like Dad taught us."

He could see the words sinking into his brother's brain and gradually John started to calm again.

"I just wanted to keep her safe," he repeated. "And then the baby, too. I complied because... What else could I do?"

He stood abruptly, shins bumping against the coffee table.

"I didn't want any of it," he said. "I didn't ask for it. But now... Christ, Gordon, I have a _child_. I have a child that I had no conscious part in making." John turned away, his shoulders stiff as steel. "What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to be a father to a child I didn't want? A child born from violence?"

Gordon stood and turned John around to face him again.

"I don't know," he said. "I wish I had all the answers. I wish I knew the right things to say. But what I do know is that no matter what, everyone will support you."

"I-I know..."

John lowered himself onto the couch again and ran his fingers over his head. It was still a surreal sight for Gordon to see his brother, normally so proud of his carefully manicured hair, bereft of anything but a fuzz of near-transparent blond on his head. Gordon sat down again.

"The moment I saw that little girl's face," John said, "all crinkled and bloody and tiny, I knew I had to get out." He placed his hands on his knees. "I knew there was a chance. Just after giving birth, Grace was in no position to stop me. For the first time, I was able to walk away. But now I'm out. And I'm so very glad to be. But there are some things I need to sort out in my head, things I never thought I'd have to think about. And... I don't really know where to start."

"Getting through today is a good start," Gordon said. "Once you tell the cops everything, they can start collecting evidence to help charge her. Grandma's got the baby, so she couldn't be in better hands."

Just then, the door opened and Campton entered. He was carrying a fresh cup of water. John accepted it with a grateful nod.

"Are you okay to continue?" Campton asked before he sat down.

John took a sip of the water and nodded.

"I think so," he said.

Gordon gave him a reassuring smile. And so John continued his tale.

By the end of it, Gordon's heart had been smashed into a million pieces, fragments scattered into the wind. _Oh, God, Johnny. How did you survive?_ he thought.

And then he looked at his brother, taking in every tiny detail in the man's face. Every line, every furrow in his skin, the glassiness of his brother's stare, the pallor of his face. It all came together to give the one, silent answer.

 _Barely, Gordon. Barely._


	22. The Name

"Play it," Virgil said.

Scott nodded. The picture on the lounge televid leaped to life. The two brothers sat back to take in the details of the UK news cast.

"Good evening. I'm Maali Pahuja," the anchor said. "Grace Thomas, a forty-eight year old woman from Little Walden in Essex, has been charged with the abduction of American physicist and author John Tracy, who disappeared from the M11 hard shoulder in January of this year." The green screen she was standing in front of lit up. The picture of John that had become so famous stared out at them. "Mr Tracy fled Ms Thomas's house in Little Walden, Essex, where he had been held against his will for nearly a year, after Thomas had given birth. In a dramatic twist, Essex police asked International Rescue to assist with the escape bid.

"Thomas has been charged with a string of other offences including attempted murder, sexual assault and administering a substance with intent, as well as neglect and child cruelty against her daughter." The images shifted to footage of the crime scene shot from a helijet. "Police are also investigating claims that there may be bodies buried in the garden of her sixteenth century farmhouse, linked to two unsolved murder cases from the past two years. Thomas has been remanded in custody. A trial date has not yet been set."

The news cast went on and Scott paused the feed.

"Jesus Christ," Virgil said.

Scott nodded. It had been five days since John had managed to escape. Now, finally, he was coming home.

"I can't believe we'll all be together again," Virgil said. "Not even just that, that there'll be another baby in the house."

Smiling, Scott leaned back, draping his arms over the back of the couch.

"Adam is seven months old and has a set of lungs that could drown out an orchestra," he said. "Thank God Dad had the foresight to sound-proof the bedrooms." He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through to a picture Gordon had sent. It was their grandma, cuddling a tiny bundle with impossibly pink lips. "She's beautiful," he said.

Virgil leaned in to get another look – even though they had seen the picture a thousand times.

"I know. It's amazing how something so stunning can come from something so tragic. No news on a name yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," Scott said as he put the phone back in his pocket. "I guess it hasn't been high on John's list of priorities but it would be nice to know what to call her when she gets here."

The two brothers turned around at the sound of cooing voices. Alan and Tin-Tin appeared with Adam in tow.

"Hey, Squirt," Scott said. Then he grinned. "Oh, and hey Adam."

Alan scowled. Tin-Tin chuckled. They crossed to the couch and Scott reached out for Adam. The little boy grinned as he was ensconced in his uncle's arms. He favoured his mother's Malaysian heritage and he had a thick mop of straight black hair already.

"So what have you been up to today, hmm?" Scott asked. "Are you getting ready to meet your cousin?"

Adam burbled and cooed, reaching to grasp the zip of Scott's sweatshirt.

"I can't believe he's finally coming home," Tin-Tin said. "And I can't imagine what it must feel for him to know he's safe again."

Scott shifted the child in his arms. Virgil reached over to play peek-a-boo with Adam – the child's favourite game.

"I just hope he knows we're all here for him," Scott said.

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Tin-Tin said. "Knowing John, it should be more like, I hope he knows that he can ask for help at any time."

Her gentle face was creased with compassion. Scott winced as Adam grabbed his nose, his baby fingernails scraping the sensitive skin inside.

"It's going to be a big change. Having a baby, I mean," Alan said. "We know better than anyone!"

"That's not all I mean," Tin-Tin said, throwing Alan an irritated look. "It's not like having a baby is the only long-term consequence of his ordeal. He's been through a significant trauma. You don't just come home and find that everything is fine again."

Alan nodded, looking sheepish.

"I know that, Tin-Tin," he said. "I just… I guess the baby is the only thing I think I can help him with. I'm not good with the emotional support kind of thing."

Adam let out a screech and Scott winced. The child was grinning from ear to ear, revelling in the noise he was making. He wriggled in Scott's grasp, reaching for the zip again.

"Well, we're all going to have to get good at it," Scott said.

"Right," said Virgil. "it's going to be a tough few months – maybe longer – and we all have to make sure we're there for him. It's the least he deserves."

 **~oOo~**

"Did you bring a big enough plane?" Gordon asked, eyeing the mountain of bags and parcels that were piled up in the entrance hall of the Creighton-Ward mansion.

Jeff rubbed at his chin and frowned.

"You know, Gordon, I'm not sure."

The combination of Lady Penelope, Grandma Tracy and a new baby girl had proved to be an expensive one. His credit card hadn't seen so much use in decades. However, not a single atom of his body minded. After all, it was all for family. The baby girl – as yet unnamed – already had a wardrobe that rivalled Penelope's. Jeff toed one of the bags. There was so much _pink_.

Five days earlier, Jeff had chartered a Tracy Industries jet to travel to England, not merely to fetch his son, but also to personally sort out a few other issues.

One being the custody of his new granddaughter.

They had hit a legal minefield when it came to custody of the child. The mother was not an option. However, once John had been proven to be her father, the issue of capability came into play, since he had been through such a traumatic event. Then there was the fact that the child would be taken out of the court's jurisdiction… However, Jeff had stepped in with his size twelves to sort everything out – guided by his substantial legal team, of course. Now they were finally able to go home.

Parker was struggling with an armful of presents and Gordon leapt in to stop him from stumbling.

"Steady on," he said.

"Most obliged, Master Gordon," Parker said. "H'aye 'ope you have ordered a large taxi to bring you to the airport, Mister Tracy."

Jeff chuckled and folded his arms.

"We have, Parker," he said.

"It's h'a pity I couldn't take you meself," Parker said as he placed the packages on the floor beside the others. "'Owever, FAB One simply does not 'ave the required space."

He gestured at the mountain on the floor and needed to say nothing further. Jeff eyed the ever-growing pile and frowned.

"Maybe I should have ordered two cabs…"

 **~oOo~**

In his bedroom at the mansion, John said in front of the vidphone. It rang and rang.

He tapped his fingers against his jiggling legs as he waited for the call to connect. He felt fatigued and yet restless. Over the past few days, he had been barely able to stop moving for even a few seconds. Akathisia, the doctors had called it. It was all part of Benzodiazepine withdrawal syndrome, what he was now suffering from after being force-fed flunitrazepam for so long.

 _Not something that I want to have to deal with_ , he thought. _And I don't really want to have this conversation either, but…_

Click. The line connected. The screen displayed the text _VOICE ONLY_.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Is that Amelia?"

"No," the voice said. "This is her cousin, Georgie. Who are you _?_ "

"Sorry, Georgie. Of course. You sound just like her. It's John Tracy."

There was a short silence on the line. John could imagine the silent 'oh' forming on the unseen woman's lips. And then there was another click and her face appeared. She looked relatively young, perhaps a few decade older than himself.

"How are you, John?" Georgie asked.

They had met before, briefly, when the issue of Amelia's care had come up. With her mother on remand and her father untraceable, the police had reached out to other relatives. Her cousin Georgie had been the only one to step in.

"I'm okay," John said. _Liar_. "We're getting ready to leave for home. Would I be able to speak to Amelia, please? I want to say goodbye – for now."

Georgie smiled. It was a graceful expression, her lips forming a gentle bow. She bore no resemblance to her Aunt Grace – _thank God_ , John thought.

"Of course," Georgie said. "I'll get her now."

Then she disappeared from view, though John could hear her calling for her cousin. He smiled as he heard footsteps running to the vidphone. Amelia's face appeared in the screen, grinning. John shook his head. She was actually _grinning_.

" _JOHN!_ " she said. "How are you? How's my baby sister?"

John chuckled. He felt a little flutter of warmth in his cold heart. _She looks happy._

"I'm fine," he said, "and your sister is fine, too. How are things for you?"

Amelia shrugged her shoulders in typical teenage fashion but she was still smiling.

"They're okay, I guess. Georgie's really nice and her house is amazing. She's some kind of big-time architect. I mean, it's not totally ideal because it's in Kent and I'll have to move schools and everything but…" Her eyes darkened. "It's better than before."

John wished he could reach through the screen to give the teen a hug. Amelia bounced back quickly though, and she changed the subject.

"Do you have a name yet?" Amelia asked. John shook his head and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, John, come on! I need to know what to call her!"

John chuckled again, marvelling at the creature before him. She was so lively, so…beautiful. She was nothing like the husk of a child she had been before. _I wish it was as easy as this,_ he thought. _I wish she could just be this happy and move on. I hope she doesn't have too many bad days._

"I know, I know," he said. "People keep asking me and I just don't know. I'm not good at that kind of thing."

Amelia frowned.

"You named a quasar, didn't you?"

John sat back, a little stunned.

"How did you know that?" he asked.

The girl blushed a little and looked away for a moment.

"Georgie and I… We may have Googled you."

John's chuckle was louder this time.

"That sounds so strange," he said. "Do you have any ideas?"

Amelia cocked her head to the side and looked up.

"What about something astronomical? Not like, Star or Stella, but something related to astronomy. Do you have a favourite constellation? Or a specific star name?"

"I hadn't thought about that," he said. He drummed his fingers on his knees. "Hmm. That may give me a few ideas. Thanks, Amelia."

The girl beamed.

"You're welcome!"

The mirth dissipated when John's attention turned to what he had called for in the first place. Amelia noticed the change and frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Amelia, I'm flying back home today," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that."

Amelia's image shrank a little as she sat back in her chair.

"Oh," she said.

"Yeah. I don't need to stay in England any longer because they've taken my statements. Any further correspondence can be long-distance – until the trial, that is. Then I'll have to come back."

"Oh," Amelia said again. Then her image grew again as she leaned forward. She had painted a smile on her face. "Well, it won't be so different," she said. "I can still call you, right?"

"Of course you can," John said. "Just remember the time difference. I'll be twelve hours behind you – but you can call any time, even if it's the middle of the night for me." He rubbed his face, feeling suddenly weary. "I want to know that you're okay and that things are working out with Georgie."

Amelia reached out and placed a finger against the vid screen. It took John a moment to figure out what she wanted. Eventually, it clicked and he reached one of his own fingers out to touch the screen.

"Don't worry, John," she said, withdrawing her hand. "I'll keep in touch. And maybe I can come see you and my sister some time." She leaned in and whispered. "Don't worry, I can keep a secret better than anyone."

For a moment, John felt sorrow threaten to overwhelm him. The teen was a world champion in secret keeping, considering what her mother had forced her to withhold. He kept a lid on his emotions and instead gave her a smile.

"I know you can, and yes, of course you can come see your sister. If you can stomach meeting my very large family, that is," he said.

"I'm sure they're all fine."

Glancing at his watch, John realised the time. They would need to leave very soon to meet their departure window.

"Well, I'd better be going," he said. "I have a plane to catch.

Amelia nodded, looking a little dejected, but made an effort to brighten up again.

"Okay, John. Will you let me know when you're home safely?" she asked.

"Of course I will," John said. _How can she be so good after all she's been through? Amazing._ "Keep safe."

The girl blew a kiss at the screen and John smiled, reaching up to 'grab' it. He placed his closed fist against his heart.

"Bye, John," Amelia said. "Have a safe flight!"

"I will. Goodbye, Amelia," John said.

When he disconnected the line, she was still waving. _What a wonderful kid,_ he thought. _If she can come through all she's had to suffer, maybe… Maybe things will be okay for… Damn, I really do need to think of a name!_ John rose from the vidphone and glanced around the room. Everything had been packed away. _I think I'm ready to go_.

He breathed in and exhaled slowly, legs starting to jiggle again. _Yes. I'm ready to go home._

Before descending the grand staircase of the Creighton-Ward mansion, John entered the suite of rooms where his grandmother had been staying. She was ensconced in a high-backed chair, grinning and cooing at the little child in her arms. She looked up when he entered. He gave her a weak smile.

"Hey, Grandma," he said.

"Oh, John. We were just having a lovely conversation, weren't we?"

John crossed to them and looked down at the little wrinkled face, the tiny hands wrapped in scratch mittens, the little body with her legs drawn up like a frog's. _My daughter._

"I hope it was an intelligent conversation," John said. "None of that goo-goo, gaa-gaa stuff."

His grandmother shook her head and rolled her eyes. The baby stared to whimper and keen.

"Oh, John. She's five days old. Let and old woman have her goo-goos and gaa-gaas. Soon enough she'll be off to college and you'll wish for these days again!" The child began to cry softly. "Here," Grandma said, shifting the child so she could hold her out to him. "I think she needs her daddy."

John froze for a moment, thousands of thoughts racing through his mind. _What if I do something wrong? What if I don't want her? What if I hate her? What if she hates me?_ But Amelia's smiling face appeared and chased all the negativity away. _No. If she can do it, so can I._

He reached out and lifted the child, bringing her onto his shoulder. She was so small and yet so warm against him, her little face pressed against his shirt. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and made gentle shushing sounds.

"Isn't that a picture?" Grandma asked.

John let out a soft breath.

"A picture I never thought I'd see," he said.

"I know we keep asking, but have you got a name yet? We do need to get the birth certificate sorted out…"

John rubbed circles on the little girl's back as she quieted down and he nodded.

"I do, actually," he said.

His grandmother's eyes lit up.

"You do? Oh, let's hear it!" she said.

John, feeling a tendril of mischief creep in, shook his head.

"Not yet. I'll tell everyone downstairs together."

"Well, come on then!"

He was ushered out the door, his grandmother with her arms full of the last of the baby's possessions, and when he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes widened.

"Wow," he said. "That is a lot of stuff for one very small human being."

Penelope came forward and stroked the top of the baby's head, smiling at the softness of the hair against her fingers.

"Now, now, John," she said. "She deserves every last piece of it."

Grandma planted her hands on her hips and stared at him. Gordon shot his brother a strange look. John smiled.

"Well?" Grandma Tracy asked. "Go on!"

John cleared his throat lightly and shifted the baby so that he was cradling her against his chest.

"Everyone, I've finally made a decision – thanks mostly to Amelia. I've named her."

There were exclamations of happiness and Jeff stepped forward.

"And?" he asked, rubbing his finger against the girl's cheek.

"Everyone," John said, "I'm pleased to introduce you to Lyra Lucille Tracy."

Jeff smiled, showing two rows of shining teeth. His crow's feet wrinkled at the side of his eyes.

"That's wonderful," he said. "Now, come on and give your grandfather a cuddle."

He reached for the baby and John acquiesced.

"Nice to meet you, Lyra Lucille," Jeff said. "Your grandmother would have just adored you."

Gordon stepped over an errant box and clapped a hand on John's shoulder.

"Good choice, bro," he said.

"Yeah," John answered. "I thought so, too."


	23. Insight

Scott shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun. The inhabitants of Tracy Island had gathered on the deck of the Cliff House to await the arrival of the jet. Tin-Tin was putting yet more sun screen on Adam's face; Alan rolled his eyes. Brains and Virgil were leaning on the deck wall, looking out at the glimmering sea. Kyrano had gone to prepare some cold drinks. Elijah lingered on the periphery, not quite knowing what to do.

Scott strolled to his side, his hands in the pockets of his loose linen trousers.

"Hey," he said.

Elijah gave him a slight smile and straightened up.

"Hey," he replied. "Big day."

"Amazing day," Scott said. "It'll be great to have John home and safe again."

The sunlight painted Elijah's red hair gold. The nurse licked his lips and nodded.

"It's going to be very difficult for him," he said quietly. "Ceasing long-term benzodiazepine use can have significant side-effects. Not to mention the psychological trauma he will need to deal with."

Scott kicked at the ground with one foot, scuffing the toe of his loafer.

"He'll see it through," he said. "John's a fighter."

"He certainly seems to be," Elijah replied. "I have the tapering program the doctors sent through and some medication that will help reduce the side-effects, so everything is in place."

Before Scott could reply, Virgil called out.

"Here they come!"

Sure enough, the little black dot on the horizon grew and the plane took shape. Eventually, Scott saw the landing gear descend. Then the jet was on the tarmac, its engines roaring as the reverse thrust kicked in. The Tracy Industries logo emblazoned on the tail fin glinted in the sunlight as it turned on the runway.

Alan, holding Adam in his arms, joined Scott at the deck wall.

"Look, Adam. Grandpa's back. And Great-Gramma and Uncle Gordon."

The child burbled and grinned and the cabin door opened and the steps unfolded. Alan clasped his son's wrist and started waving his little hand.

"Wave at everyone, Adam. Say, 'Welcome home!'"

Scott folded his arms as the family began to emerge. As soon as John set foot on the steps, a huge cheer erupted from the deck, accompanied by deafening applause.

"Welcome home, bro!" Virgil called.

Tin-Tin let out a whoop of joy and Scott joined in. _Why not?_

"Look, Adam. It's Uncle John. You haven't met him yet," Alan said. "And who's that? It's your new cousin!"

John looked up and waved at them with his free hand. His other arm was occupied as he carried his daughter. Even from a distance, Scott could see the exhaustion hanging over him. John's face was washed out against his dark shirt and his movements were slow.

"Wow, John sure looks strange with no hair," Alan said, still waving Adam's hand.

"Alan!" Tin-Tin admonished.

"What?" he asked. "I'm just commenting."

"Well, don't," Tin-Tin said. "And certainly don't say that to him."

"As if I would," Alan said.

Virgil glanced at Scott and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, guys," Scott said, hoping to prevent World War Three from breaking out. "Let's go. I want to see my new niece!"

 **~oOo~**

Everyone was being great. Truly great. _But_ , John thought as he made his way to the sick room, _it's all a little…overwhelming_. No one had asked any awkward questions. No one had even mentioned his ordeal. It was simply the act of existing in the same space with so many other people that exhausted him the most. _I'm not used to it any more_ , he thought. _That's a strange sensation. Family gatherings never bothered me before._

It wasn't just the presence of other people that was difficult, of course. John felt as though he was coming down with the flu; he was all aches and pains and tiredness. It wasn't the flu, though. If only it were that simple. It had been too long since he'd had his last dose of flunitrazepam and the side-effects were kicking in. His fingers clicked incessantly, no matter how he tried to stop them. His left eyelid twitched again and again. As he rounded the final corner on the way to the sick room, desperation had started to coil in his chest. _I hate this…_

When he entered, Elijah was sitting at the comm station. He stood as soon as he saw John.

He said nothing but ushered John onto one of the beds. John's hands were shaking as he sat down; he clamped them onto his knees. Elijah closed the sick room door and returned to his side.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

There were many ways in which John could have responded to that question. He could have given the generic lie: "I'm fine." He could have given the other man a wry smile and shrugged his shoulders: "I've seen better days." He could have responded in the same way he had to his brothers: "I'm just glad to be home."

But John decided that none of those were necessary. Why lie? Why shrug it off? Why avoid answering? The door was closed and there was probably some sort of nurse-patient confidentiality agreement – ( _Is that even a thing?_ he thought _)_ – so, John opted to tell the truth.

"I feel like shit," he said.

And, to his extreme surprise, Elijah simply nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "You would do. Can you be specific about the nature of the shitness?" he asked. "Are we talking headache-shit or nausea-shit or what?"

It took John a moment to respond. This had not been his experience of medical staff over the past week. He had been used to distant looks and stock questions and laboured medical explanations. _This… I like this a lot better_.

"I feel like I'm coming down with the flu and at the same time like I've overdosed on caffeine." He lifted his hands to show the other man their tremoring. "I can't stop shaking."

Elijah clicked his tongue.

"Benzo withdrawal," he said. "Did the doctors talk you through it?"

John nodded and grabbed the edge of the bed with both hands to quell his shakes again.

"Yeah. It sounded like a positively stunning experience."

"It is," Elijah said, crossing to one of the cupboards. He unhooked a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the cabinet. "But we have a plan in place."

He plucked a small bottle and a box of pills from inside, grabbed a syringe kit, then went to wash his hands.

"A plan that involves stabbing me," John said, his voice flat. He didn't mind needles, though he didn't relish them either.

Hands now clean, Elijah picked up the bottle of medicine and rolled it in between his palms. Then he deftly went through the motions of filling the syringe, deposited one of the pills in a little paper cup and grabbed a small bottle of water from the cooler. Then he placed everything onto a rolling tray and brought it over to the bed. Once everything was in place, he sat down opposite John and looked him in the eye.

"You were honest with me," Elijah said, "so I'll be honest with you. Benzo withdrawal is absolutely shite. But the doctors have drawn up a tapering plan to reduce the dose you're on and I have a supply of flumazenil. It's very useful in reducing side-effects but it does need to be injected. I promise, it will make things easier."

"Can't I just go cold-turkey?" John asked.

Elijah shook his head.

"Not a good plan. Not unless you want to go into a coma or start having convulsions."

"Neither of those are particularly high on my list of priorities right now," John said. He shivered as a wave of coldness washed over him. _Another side-effect_ , he thought.

Elijah handed the pill cup to John along with the bottle of water.

"That's your reduced dose," he said. "The doctors switched you onto diazepam as well, correct?"

"Yeah, they did," he said. John looked at the little pill for a moment before huffing out a breath and tossing the medication back with a swig of water. "I wish I didn't have to take it at all."

"Well, the battle is half-won already, then," Elijah said. "Your body may be addicted but your mind isn't. Or at least, it doesn't want to be. Roll up your sleeve, please."

John did as he was told. Elijah prepared the needle.

"I need to go for a big vein, here," he said. He turned John's arm over and prodded at one of his protruding veins. "I don't think it'll be too hard to find one."

John let out a self-depreciating laugh.

"My veins didn't always stick out that much," he said. "Neither did my collar bones or my hips. But…" He sighed. He had been avoiding thinking about his ordeal all day. There was something about the way Elijah looked at him that made him feel like he could spill his guts. "I didn't come out of that house in good shape."

Elijah rubbed the intended injection site with alcohol and gauze.

"Understandable," he said. Then he picked up the needle. "Ready?"

"I guess so," John said.

He winced as the sharp tip went in. Elijah pushed the plunger in slowly. It seemed like an ice age had passed by the time he withdrew the needle. The nurse grabbed a piece of cotton wool and placed it onto the little prick in John's skin.

"Hold, please," he said.

John pressed down on the wound and watched as Elijah disposed of the needle in the sharps bin and pushed the tray aside.

"You'll probably experience some fatigue," he said. "The diazepam will stop the withdrawal symptoms and the flumazenil will take the edge off the sedation of the diazepam. Still, I would advise that you lie down for a while."

He withdrew the gauze and tossed it in the trash. John didn't feel any different. His hands were still shaking. He still felt ill. However, he did as he was told and lay back on the bed.

He stared up at the ceiling, counting the tiles from one end of the room to the other. As the medication started to take hold, he felt himself relax. The symptoms began to abate, and while he still felt drowsy, it was nowhere near as extreme as the loss of consciousness he had suffered at the hands of Grace.

 _I wonder what she's thinking right now…_

John squeezed his eyes shut and willed her image to leave his mind's eye. _I don't want to think about you,_ he thought. _I don't want you to poison my home._

"Are you okay?" Elijah asked.

Again, John could have lied. But he didn't.

"Not really," he said. "Just… Bad memories."

He listened as Elijah walked to his side. The bed springs winced as he sat on the other bed.

"It takes a long time for the memories to fade."

John cracked one eye open at that. Elijah was staring at the ground, his hands hanging loosely over his knees. His tone had been so quiet, so dull. John tried to sit up but found his limbs were unresponsive. Instead, he forced his other eye open.

"How would you know?" he asked.

Elijah took in a long breath and controlled his exhalation. He tried to speak a few times but it seemed to take a while for him to find the right words.

"I know because _I know_ ," he said. "I don't normally talk about this and none of the rest of your family know, but…" He sighed. "When I was nine, a man lured me into his car. He drove me off to some empty house and…"

This time John managed to struggle up onto one elbow. He waited. Elijah would not look at him.

"He…did some very bad things to me," Elijah said at last. "That was, what, nineteen years ago? And yet those bad memories still come back to haunt me sometimes." He cleared his throat. "Anyway. They don't come back as often as they did before and I guess… I guess the reason I mention this is because I'd like to say the one thing I wish someone had said to me nineteen years ago." He finally looked up, his eyes bright. "It's not the end of the world. I know it feels like it but it's not. You can recover from this."

That tore it. John felt tears brim in his eyes and he flopped back down onto the pillow. He wiped at his face as weariness threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn't just the meds. It was the memories, the knowledge. And…the relief?

He felt a hand gently settle on his shoulder. Elijah gave him a light squeeze.

"I'm not a particularly touchy-feely person," the Irishman said. "I'm also not exactly the world's number one conversationalist. But, if you ever need an understanding ear, I'll be here. I suppressed all my feelings for years until they nearly destroyed me, and Matthew too. It's better to deal with them now than to deal with them later."

John swallowed against the lump of emotion in his throat.

"Th-thanks," he said. "That's good to know."

Elijah patted his shoulder before withdrawing his hand.

"Good," he said. "Now, I recommend some rest. Just lie here for a while until you're feeling a bit stronger. I'll be pottering about if you need anything."

"Thanks," John said, feeling his eyelids slip closed again.

That phrase in Elijah's lilting voice played over and over in his mind.

 _You can recover from this_.

He thought of Lyra, being taken care of by her large extended family upstairs, and of Amelia, the bravest child John had ever met.

 _I will recover from this_ , he thought. _I have to._


	24. Deluge

Crying. Lyra had been crying non-stop for an _hour_. John sat on the edge of his bed, fingers twined in the short strands of his re-growing hair.

"I don't know what you want!" he said. "You've eaten. You have a fresh diaper. You've just had a bath. What else could it be?"

He looked over at the bassinet, at the little fists waving in the air. _I don't know what to do._

It was becoming clear that babies were not his forte. Tin-Tin had reassured him that babies were creatures of simple desires.

"They want food, sleep and love," she said with a chuckle. "And that's about it!"

He snorted. The child wasn't sleepy, nor hungry, and he had held her while she took her bottle.

"I've ticked all your boxes," John said, pulling his hands from his head. "What more do you want?"

And still she cried.

Frustration welled up inside him and John felt his breathing become shallow. Claws of despair started to sink into him, their tips dipped in a poison of inadequacy. He had been home for a week now and nearly free for two.

Free. He snorted. He would never be truly free again. John felt as though his life had been turned on its side; nothing made sense any more. Nothing felt right. Sure, he was home. Sure, he was among his family. But it was like wearing a jumper had had shrunk. Life looked the same but it didn't fit any more.

Being on the island was uncomfortable. Meeting anyone's gaze was a nightmare. The rational side of his brain told him that there was no way they would judge him, would scorn him. And yet, the irrational side came in with a chorus of paranoia. _They're judging you. They're looking down on you. They know that you're not worth a dime any more…_ No matter how many times he tried to banish those thoughts, they just kept coming back.

And through it all, the baby continue to shriek.

John jammed his fingers in his ears. He couldn't do this. There was no way. _I'm not ready for this. I'm not good enough to do this. What the hell do I know about babies? I haven't got the first clue._ His breath started to come in sharp gasps and he gripped the edge of the bed. _I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this!_

Lyra wailed anew.

John was suddenly on his feet; he didn't remember getting up. His fists were balled and jammed at his sides. Sweat poured from his forehead. Sounds came at him in waves, too loud to comprehend, too much to understand. Everything was pressing down on him, crushing him, compressing his lungs, stopping his very breath. It was too much. Too much!

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!"

For a moment, everything stopped. It allowed him the chance to take in what had happened. And he realised what he had done. He had screamed. At his own daughter. A _baby_.

The clocks started ticking again and John backed away from his bed, from the bassinet.

"What am I doing?" he asked, bringing one hand up to claw at his neck.

He bumped into something cold and turned around. The patio doors. They led out onto his small balcony that contained a patio table and two metal chairs. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the humidity. A storm was coming. He could smell it on the air.

From inside, the child was still wailing. John squeezed his eyes shut, jamming the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. _I can't do this_ , he thought.

He slid the door closed again. Then he looked up. He dragged a chair over to the wall.

He climbed.

 **~oOo~**

The air had that tell-tale metallic tang. The clouds were low and grey, heavy with anticipation. Scott slipped his thumbs through his belt loops and watched the encroaching storm. Within minutes, the deluge arrived.

The rain hammered against the bedroom window in heavy bursts; a flash lit up the clouds. Scott counted: _One, two, three, four, five…_ Thunder rolled in the distance.

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, then exhaled slowly. Today had been a tough one. International Rescue had been called in to save a plane full of passengers from crash landing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Thunder boomed again; it sounded closer this time. They had only just made it in time. _A few minutes later and all those people would have been interned in a watery grave._ However, IR had saved the day once again. _It's better not to dwell on the 'what-might-have-been' and focus more on the now,_ Scott thought.

Another sluice of rain sliced the window. Scott turned to leave. _I wonder if Grandma has anything delicious left after dinner…_

He strode out of his room and turned in the direction of the kitchen but he paused outside the next door up. _John's room. I haven't seen him today. I wonder if he's in there?_

Scott knocked on the door and waited. He knocked again. No answer. He jiggled the door handle; it turned.

As soon as the door opened, a wall of sound hit him. Lyra was wailing, her cries coming in rapid bursts. Scott looked around. _Where is he?_ The bed was made. The sofa was empty. _Unless he's hiding in the closet, he's not here._

Before doing anything else, Scott knew he had to attend to the baby. As gently as he could, he scooped the squalling child out of the bassinet and into his arms. Her tiny fists were clenched in little red balls and her face was puce.

"My, my, my, little lady. What's wrong? Tell Uncle Scotty all about it."

He cradled the child close to his chest, the same way he had done with Adam a few months before.

"That's it," he cooed. "There's my little warrior."

The child nuzzled herself against his chest. Her mouth was moving, her lips curled as if searching for something. Lightbulb moment.

"You're hungry, little miss," he said. He rocked her as she cried out her hunger. "Now, where is your daddy? Oh Daddy, where are you?"

There was a pause. Then.

"It's been a long time since you've called me that, son."

Scott spun around – not too abruptly – and grinned. Jeff was standing in the doorway.

"What's wrong with my Lyra?" he asked. He glanced around. "Where's your brother?"

Scott's smile slipped into a frown. The child wailed anew.

"I don't know, Dad," he said. "I happened to call in and Lyra was here, crying her eyes out, but I can't see John anywhere. She needs to be fed."

Jeff's frown mirrored his son's.

"And you're sure he's not here," he said, glancing around as his son had done.

"I don't think he is, Dad," Scott said. "But he wouldn't have left the baby. Would he?"

There was something about the look on Jeff's face that made Scott nervous. "I thought he was doing okay, considering the circumstances."

"So did I, Scott," Jeff said, "but perhaps the pressure of the baby on top of everything else is too much. I'm not certain that I could cope with it."

He held out his arms for the baby; Scott acquiesced.

"I think she's hungry," Scott said.

"I'll take care of her," Jeff replied. Then his expression changed and he squinted as though he had seen something. "Son, is that patio door open?"

Scott crossed to the door, then turned to nod. There was a small space where the door hadn't closed properly; rain was invading.

"Yeah," he said.

"Is he out there?" Jeff asked, placing the baby against his shoulder to rub her back.

Scott pulled the door aside and looked out, his face beaten by a barrage of raindrops.

"No, he's not," he called.

Then he looked to the left. He frowned. John was particular about the way he liked things and he always left chairs tucked neatly under tables. Scott saw that one of the metal chairs had been pulled across to the wall. He looked up, rain battering his face. _The roof. Of course._

Scott ducked his head back inside.

"I think I know where he is, Dad," he said. "Take care of Lyra. I'll take care of John."

"The roof?" Jeff asked. His eyes were hard. His mouth was tight.

"Yeah." Scott gave his father a tiny nod. "I'll bring him down."

He stepped back into the rain and climbed.

The first time John had been found on a roof was when he was still very young, not long after their mother had died. The child had climbed out of the sky light in his bedroom on the Kansas farmstead. Scott had found him lying on the roof slates, staring up at the sky.

"It makes me feel closer to Mom," John had said.

Since then, the roof had become a place of solitude, of escape. Scott felt a twinge of dread. It was, however, not the safest place for someone to be if they were feeling not quite right. _And Johnny is definitely not quite right._

The pouring rain made his hands slip but Scott managed to pull himself up onto the villa's flat roof. And, sure enough, there was his brother, a little way off, sitting cross-legged – and far too close to the edge for Scott's liking.

Thunder crashed overhead as Scott made his way across the roof, careful of his footing. Flat surface or not, it was still dangerous in the rain.

"Johnny?" he called.

John did not turn around. As Scott approached, he could see that his brother was soaked through. His short hair was plastered to his skull and his clothes were stuck to his thin frame, making him look even more emaciated. Scott tried again.

"Johnny?"

There were a few moments of nothing more than rainfall another clap of thunder.

Then.

"Scott?"

Taking that as permission, Scott dropped down onto his knees beside his brother, his clothes rapidly becoming waterlogged in the deluge.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked.

John looked at him then. Scott managed to stop himself from recoiling.

If desolation had a face, that face would have been John's in that moment. Soaked to the skin, a bewildered look in his wide eyes, John looked as though someone had ripped his soul out. Scott did the only thing he could think of. He pulled his brother into a hug.

John stiffened, tried to pull away, but Scott only tightened his hold. He could feel his brother's bones sliding underneath his skin, and every sharp edge that jutted out. The sky continued to fall down on them and eventually, John relented and leaned into the embrace.

"I… I can't do this," John said into Scott's shoulder. "I can't. Nothing feels right. It's like there's a whole part of me that's missing, or like I've been shattered and then put back together in the wrong way."

He drew in a deep breath, clearly trying hard to keep a lid on his volatile emotions.

"I can barely look after myself, never mind a child," he continued. "I mean, I screamed at her earlier. _Screamed_. She's two weeks old for Christ's sake. She can't help it!"

He pulled away, standing abruptly. Scott was on his feet in under a second.

"Careful, Johnny," he said.

John barked out a laugh and took a step back – towards the edge. Scott held out a hand.

"I'm not good enough for her, Scott," John said.

A flash of lightning; thunder within a heartbeat. The storm was right on top of them.

"Yes you are, John," Scott said. "You're just not yourself at the moment. Give it time."

Another barking laugh. John stepped back again. His heel was right at the edge of the roof now.

"What if this is myself, now?" he asked. "Because that's what it feels like. It feels like nothing is ever going to get better, that I'll always be half the person I used to be, because there's a huge chunk of me that's been ripped out!"

Scott took the tiniest step forward, keeping his hand held out. _That's a two storey drop_ , he thought.

"C'mon, Johnny. It'll be all right -"

"How do you know that, Scott?" John asked. Rain ran in rivulets down his pale face. "How do you know that everything will be all right? There's no guarantee! I might be fucked up for the rest of my life!"

John's heel edged out a little. _That's it!_

In a swift movement, Scott reached out and grabbed John's arm, wrenching him backwards. Another sheet of lightning split the sky. Scott felt his feet slip from under him and the two brothers collapsed onto the roof, Scott pinning John down.

"Look!" he yelled against the noise of the storm. "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't have a crystal ball. But what I do have is faith. Faith in you to pull through this. Faith in our family to help you heal." He could feel his temper rising, though it was more frustration than anger. "Maybe you'll never be the same person again. Maybe you'll be better. Maybe you'll be stronger. I don't know. But you need to stick around so we can find out!"

John had closed his eyes during Scott's tirade, his face taut, but he opened them now. Scott sat back and held out a hand. Slowly, John reached for it. Scott pulled them both to their feet.

"C'mon," he said.

"O-okay, Scott," John said, dropping his chin to his chest.

Scott planted a hand on his younger brother's shoulder and guided him towards the roof above John's balcony again.

The rain continued to pour but the thunder seemed further away.


	25. Discovery

At five p.m. the vidphone rang. Jeff swivelled in his chair and pressed the accept call button with one hand, while the other kept a careful hold of his granddaughter. Lyra was burbling, quite content to be cradled in her grandfather's strong arms.

"Hello?" Jeff asked as the screen sprang to life.

A very tired face appeared.

"Good evening, Mr Tracy. This is April Mackenzie from the Victim Support Unit within Essex police. I hope I haven't called at a bad time."

Jeff shook his head, adjusting the child in his arms.

"Actually, no," he said. "For once, an international call has come in at a decent hour for us."

Mackenzie smiled, although it didn't reach her eyes. Jeff drew his chair a little closer to the screen.

"Is there news?" he asked.

Lyra made a small choking noise and Jeff adjusted her position, grabbing a nearby muslin square as she began to spew.

"Yes, Mr Tracy," Mackenzie said. "I'm making this call so early - for us, at least - because I want John to have the news before it breaks on this morning's news telecast."

As he wiped Lyra's face, Jeff's frown deepened.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's policy to give the information directly to the victim…" she said, though there was reluctance in her tone.

"My son is indisposed at the moment," Jeff said.

That was painfully true. John had been confined to the sick room for several days after the incident on the roof, unwell after the soaking he received in the storm. He was still there, barely speaking to anyone.

"I am authorised to speak on his behalf," Jeff said.

Mackenzie nodded.

"Well, as you know, a forensic search has been carried out at Grace Thomas's property. Two bodies were found under one of the flowerbeds. However." She paused.

Jeff's face turned to stone.

"There are more," he said.

The woman nodded.

"Yes. Our teams carried out a full search of the property and found two more bodies - both male. We're awaiting test results to confirm their identities but we suspect they are Thomas's father and her husband. We couldn't track down either men; now we can see why."

Sitting back, Jeff shook his head.

"Why do you suspect that?" he asked.

"The bodies were found in a totally different part of the farm and were killed in different ways from those under the flowerbed," Mackenzie said. "Both appear to have been killed in a frenzied knife attack, rather than strangulated or suffocated. Their ages also don't fit the pattern of her other victims and their state of decomposition suggests they were killed long before the other victims."

Lyra yawned, her little red gums shining, and snuggled into Jeff's chest. _How could someone so beautiful come from something so ugly?_

"That's very unfortunate news for Amelia," Jeff said.

"Yes," Mackenzie said, her face marred by the dark smudges under her eyes. "However, for the case, it proves that Thomas had killed previously and with four victims, the case against her will be strengthened. Her defence was likely going to pin the blame on John and suggest that he abused her, but with four bodies in the ground on her property that were dead long before John ever set foot in the house, that defence won't wash. Then there's all the evidence from inside the house - most damning of all, the photographs."

Shuddering, Jeff closed his eyes for a moment. Thomas had kept photographic evidence of the abuse she inflicted on his son. _And to think I may have to see those images in court..._ He shook his head to clear the anguish away.

"It looks as though there will be enough to convict her," Jeff said.

Mackenzie nodded, although there was a reluctance in her movements.

"Yes, there is. However, it's likely that her defence team will move to have her found not guilty through diminished responsibility. The prosecution will need to prove that she knew what she was doing was wrong."

Jeff grunted.

"Hopefully there will be enough evidence to suggest malice aforethought."

"We can being a very strong case against her," Mackenzie said. "The outcome will hinge on the make-up of the jury. The main question they will ask is, why didn't John leave?"

"To save a child's life," Jeff spat.

Mackenzie's face was impassive; Jeff flushed.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"That's understandable," she said. "The evidence that Amelia will give is of paramount importance. Her account will either support her mother's claims or John's."

"Will she need to testify?" Jeff asked. "That's a lot for a teenager to go through."

"It depends on the legal team's decision. A first-hand account given in court could convince the jury, but on the other side of the coin, the defence cross-examination could tear her to pieces. In any case, Mr Tracy, I thought it was best that you knew first, rather than finding out through media speculation."

"Thank you," Jeff said. "I appreciate that it's been an early start for you."

Mackenzie gave him a tired smile.

"We'll keep you updated," she said.

Jeff thanked her again and the line clicked off. He looked down at Lyra, whose eyes were shut, her little eyelashes brushing her chubby cheeks.

"Well, my dear," he said. "I think it's time we visited your daddy."

As he lifted the child up onto one shoulder, Jeff marvelled at how quickly everything had come back to him. He could remember exactly how to make formula, change diapers, how to hold the delicate little pink bundle. He could even still decipher the differences in cries. _And it's been nearly a quarter of a century since I was father to a new-born!_ he thought. Of course, he'd had some practice with Adam. However, since it had become clear that John was in no condition to care for his daughter, Jeff had taken on the fatherhood mantle again - and, in truth and in spite of the difficult circumstances, he was loving it. _It brings back good memories,_ he thought. _Sometimes it feels like Lucy is standing over my shoulder. She would love this little one. A girl, at long last!_

His mirth subsided, however, as he made his way past the kitchen and towards the sick room. The smell of dinner would soon draw his sons to the dining room - all bar one.

When he pushed the door of the sick room open, he could see that John was still facing the wall. _I need to get a therapist out here, and fast,_ Jeff thought.

Elijah stood up from his nurse's station and gave Jeff a small nod.

"Sir," he said.

Jeff smiled. He had told the man not to call him that but it seemed that Elijah preferred to.

"Is he awake?" Jeff asked.

"Yes," Elijah said, "although he still isn't very talkative."

He motioned for Jeff to take a seat at the side of John's bed and reached out for the baby. Jeff passed her over and sat beside his son. John didn't move.

"Son," he said.

No response.

"John, turn around."

The words came out harsher than Jeff had intended but they had the desired effect. John turned to face him. Jeff kept his expression neutral as his chest tightened. His son looked destitute, his pallor pale, his hair stiff and straw-like.

"I just had a call from the Victim Support Unit," he said. "Son, they've found two more bodies."

No response.

"Although it's unconfirmed as yet, the police believe that one of those bodies might be Amelia's father."

Something glimmered in John's eyes. He blinked and sat up, his movements laboured. His arms were stick-thin underneath his baggy t-shirt. _Good_ , Jeff thought. _At least he's moving_.

"Grace told me that Amelia's father left her," John said. His voice was hoarse. "She said his leaving was part of the reason she started kidnapping and killing men."

"If the police's suspicions are proved to be correct, it would seem that was not the entire truth," Jeff said. "Perhaps he threatened to leave and she killed him."

John drew his knees up to his chin.

"I wouldn't surprise me," he said. "Poor Amelia. To find out that your mother killed your father. She thought all these years that he abandoned her. I always wondered about that. It sounded callous for a father to leave his daughter behind in an unbearable situation."

As if on cue, Elijah coughed. John's attention was drawn to him - and the child in his arms. John's face creased with something that looked like guilt, then softened again.

"How is Lyra?" he asked.

Elijah brought the child to him and held her out.

"Ask her yourself," he said.

There was a moment of hesitation. But, and Jeff didn't see what happened exactly, something happened between the two men. There was a look of some sort. Then John reached out for his daughter.

"Hey, my little star," he said, his voice wavering. "How are you?"

Slowly turning his head, Jeff looked at Elijah - who, in a rare moment, was smiling. He threw him a questioning look. _What was that?_ Elijah gave a little shrug of his shoulders. Jeff looked back at his son and granddaughter. _This is good_ , he said.

"Who's been looking after her?" John asked, tracing a finger along one of her red cheeks.

Jeff could not stop himself from puffing a little with pride.

"Me," he said.

" _You_ , Dad?" John asked.

One side of his mouth lifted in a disbelieving smile. Jeff crossed his arms.

"I'm no rookie," he said. "I've changed more dirty diapers than you've had hot meals."

John laughed - it was hoarse, but at least it was there.

"I guess so," John said. Then he looked down at his daughter, whose eyes were open and bright. "I'm sorry I'm not..."

His voice caught. Jeff shook his head.

"Enough," he said. "No apologies." John gave him a wobbly smile. "You're not yourself, son, and we all understand that. But I think it's time that we called in some help."

Watching the play of emotions on John's face was like watching a flip book animation. Despair was quickly followed by anger, then supplemented by disgust, then reluctance. Finally, he settled on defeat.

"I guess you're right," he said.

"Good," Jeff said. "I'll make some calls."

"Dad -" John's voice caught again, but he swallowed against it and continued. "I don't want to be admitted to a psych ward. I just... I don't want to leave the island. Not yet, anyway."

"I understand," Jeff said. "I'm sure one of our agents can source someone reliable who can come to you and who won't divulge the nature of our organisation."

Relief flooded across John's face. Jeff watched as his son cradled little Lyra, simply watching her.

"Perhaps," Elijah said, tapping his chin, "you'd like to go out for an evening stroll with her. You could use the fresh air - and so could I, for that matter."

Jeff gave the nurse a grateful look.

"And, maybe," Elijah continued, "after that you could give Amelia a call - assuming she knows about the bodies and the fact that one of her might be her father, she might need a virtual shoulder to cry on."

 _Clever_ , Jeff thought. _Very clever_.

John allowed the thoughts to swirl in his head for a moment before he eventually nodded.

"Okay," he said. "I could go for a walk. And I would like to talk to Amelia."

"Good," Elijah said. "I'll get you some clean clothes."

The nurse disappeared. Jeff stood and planted his hands on his hips.

"Mind if I join you, son?" he asked.

John's face crinkled into a smile - the most genuine smile that had graced his face in weeks.

"Not at all, Dad," he said. "That sounds good."


	26. Support

Some things don't go quite to plan. Just as John pulled his t-shirt over his head, the emergency klaxon sounded.

"So much for a walk," he thought.

By the time John reached the lounge, his brothers, Elijah and Brains had assembled. There was no sign of Tin-Tin. _She's probably with Adam_ , he thought.

A video feed of Matthew's face had replaced a copy of Van Gogh's Sunflowers. It had conveniently appeared in the lounge when the twins had joined IR. _It makes sense, I guess,_ John thought. _Portraits of sons, people will understand. Portraits of people who are supposed to be employees? Very strange._

Another strange thing was seeing someone other than Alan in Thunderbird Five. Matthew's red head was framed by the blinking instruments behind him. John felt a tiny twinge of guilt. _I should be up there. It's my job_. Sense beat back that thought. _You will be again. But not now._

"What's the situation, Thunderbird Five?" Jeff asked.

Lyra was already in the stroller by his side. John crossed over to peer inside. She was resplendent in a new summery dress, topped off by a bright yellow hat.

"We've had a call from P.B. Corps in Brazil," Matthew said. "A gas riser on one of their offshore oil drilling platforms has failed and there's been an explosion. Not only that, a repair crew was underwater at the time, carrying out repairs on the rig's stanchions. Now they can't be reached. There's a possibility they might be trapped under debris from the explosion."

Jeff was in full-scale rescue mode already.

"Okay. Scott, off you go. Matthew will feed you the co-ordinates."

Scott nodded and crossed to the entrance to Thunderbird One. Jeff turned his attention to his other sons.

"Virgil, take Thunderbird Two with Pod Four. Gordon, you'll join him."

"Yes, Father," they chorused in unison.

Virgil made his way to the painting that marked his access to Thunderbird two. Gordon headed in the direction of the passenger lift. Alan stood up.

"What about me, Father?"

Jeff nodded.

"Yes, Alan. Virgil may need help in Thunderbird Two while Gordon is out in Thunderbird Four."

"F.A.B.!" Alan said.

He jogged to catch up with Gordon. John turned back to the transmission.

"I hope you're taking good care of my 'Bird," he said, his tone toeing the line between humorous and deadly.

Matthew grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, yeah. I'm keeping the floors scrubbed and the windows polished – with only the occasional mad party with my alien buds." He stuck his tongue out as Elijah rolled his eyes. "Thunderbird Five out."

The screen clicked back to Sunflowers. Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose.

"All that time on his own isn't making him any saner," he said.

John gripped the handle of the pushchair.

"You get used to it eventually," he said.

The muffled sound of Thunderbird One's engines filled the air as the sleek ship shot up into the sky. _Good luck, Scott_ , John thought. It felt strange. At this point in a rescue, he was the one liaising with the rest of the crew, giving them flight co-ordinates and keeping them updated about the rescue situation. Now, all he could do was watch as his brother rocketed off into the distance.

Within a few minutes, Thunderbird Two was in the air as well. Despite the knowledge that he wasn't well enough to join them, John couldn't set aside the thick feeling of despondency that settled over him.

Trying to distract himself, John turned to Jeff.

"I guess the stroll is off now, huh?" he asked.

Jeff, who was firmly ensconced at his desk now, nodded.

"For me it is," he said. His gaze flicked to Elijah and then back to John. After a moment, he spoke again. "There's not much you can do from here. Why don't you two take a walk anyway?"

"That sounds like a grand plan," Elijah said.

Before he had even drawn breath to object, John felt a hand on his elbow and he was unceremoniously ushered out of the lounge.

"For a shy guy, you're pretty assertive when you need to be," John said.

Elijah grabbed the front of the pushchair and between them, they carried it down the outdoor stairway to the pool. The water was already sliding back into place after Thunderbird One's launch.

"My private personality and my work persona are two different things," Elijah said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The scent of begonias and jasmine rose up in the heat. The sun was still warm, though the light was waning a little as the afternoon stretched into evening.

A year earlier, John would have come back with a witty retort. _Are you calling me hard work?_ But the crushing feeling of abandonment was back, so he said nothing. _I_ am _hard work._

"Beach or garden?" he blurted out, trying to keep his negative thoughts at bay.

Elijah took a tiny step back, his eyebrows rising, but he recovered his composure quickly.

"I prefer the garden," he said.

John nodded.

"Me, too. I've always liked it."

Since arriving on the island many years before, Kyrano had cultivated a breath-taking tropical garden, a striking and radiant space filled with an array of ferns, plants and flowers. He had even cultivated a new species of orchid that would flourish in the high temperatures, naming it the _anak cantik_.

 _Meaning beautiful daughter_ , John thought. He glanced into the pushchair as they entered the garden, passing under the elaborate bamboo arch that marked the entrance. _I have a beautiful daughter now, too,_ he thought. _It just doesn't seem real_.

Lyra was sound asleep, resting in the shade of the pushchair's hood. As they walked along the winding path, John recited the names of the plants. However, his attention kept being diverted by thoughts of his brothers as they jetted off across the Pacific towards Brazil. He didn't feel envy that he wasn't on the rescue. His mission tally was far lower than any of the others, and in truth, that didn't bother him so much. _I know I'm not the G.I Joe of the family_.

He snorted. Elijah gave him a questioning look, his eyelids narrowing around his green eyes.

"Nothing," John said. He spotted an arbour and started to walk towards it.

"Are you worried about your brothers?" Elijah asked, changing his direction to match John's.

"Not hugely," John said. "There's always that little niggle of fear. Is this the time when one of them doesn't come back?" He parked the pushchair beside the arbour and sat down. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. "I guess that's how they felt all those months. Wondering if I would ever come back."

"They were very worried," Elijah said, sitting down beside him. "But not one of them gave up hope. They all knew that you would come back. And you did."

John snorted again as self-derision started to erupt.

"Yeah, but in what condition?" he asked. "I'm barely functioning. I don't think I'll ever be myself again."

"I know it feels that way now," Elijah said softly, "but it will get better."

John felt his anger start to vent.

"Oh, yeah? How could you –" He stopped himself mid-sentence as Elijah looked away, a veil of pain muting his expression. Anger gave way to shame. "Sorry. I forgot."

The other man shrugged, though he did turn his face back. There was something in his eyes, like a shadow of past suffering lingering somewhere behind his irises.

"It's fine."

Neither man spoke for a few minutes. A haze of insect song settled over them. Lyra made a few keening sounds but didn't waken. John leaned forward so far that his head was almost between his knees. _Stupid_ , he thought. _You can't act as if you're the only one in the world who's ever suffered. Think about Gordon and his accident. He didn't sulk and languish – he got himself into a wheelchair and started living his life again. Then, once he was back on his feet, he never looked back. Man up, Tracy._

But it wasn't as simple as that and he knew it. There was no question mark over who was to blame for the hydrofoil crash. It was simply an accident. _Gordon couldn't have prevented it. But you could have prevented all this if you had simply walked away._

"Dammit!"

The cork popped and all his bottled emotions exploded out. John threw himself onto his feet and turned to face Elijah but when he spoke, he was really addressing himself.

"I couldn't have just walked away," he said, trying his hardest to keep his volume down and his breathing steady. "I couldn't. How could I walk away, knowing that a fourteen year old girl would be punished for it? Yeah, I could probably have overpowered Grace. Christ, I could have killed her – easily! But that would have made me just as bad as her. I had to let her do whatever she wanted to protect Amelia – and my family." He walked away a few paces, passing his hand through his hair, then turned back. "I mean, how would everyone have reacted if I'd been murdered, huh? They might never have even found the body, and what kind of mess would that have left behind?" He strode forward, coming nose-to-nose with the other man. But it wasn't Elijah's face he was seeing; it was his own. "I did what I had to do to survive. And it wasn't pretty. And I've half-killed myself. But at least I'm not dead."

His voice stumled on the last word. All strength left his legs and he felt himself sinking down. Elijah's arms were around his waist, taking his weight.

"Steady," he said.

 _Don't cry. Don't cry_.

"At least I'm not dead," he said, his voice muffled against the fabric of Elijah's shirt.

He allowed himself to be guided back to the arbour and sat down again. He leaned in as Elijah wrapped an arm around his shoulder. _I should move away,_ John thought. _I shouldn't need this. I shouldn't need comfort_.

He stayed where he was.

"Just hold on to that thought," Elijah said. "You're alive and you have a wonderful family – including a beautiful daughter. You have a lot to live for."

John tried to hide his sniffling, though there was no way to do so delicately.

"I know I have," he said. "It's just… Part of me thinks that my life will never be the same. It won't be the way it was supposed to be."

"And what was it 'supposed' to be?" Elijah asked.

The question made John's thoughts start to spin. _What did I expect for my future? What do I think is going to be different now?_

He sat up; Elijah withdrew his arm.

"I don't really know," he thought. "I was on the way to Cambridge to deliver a lecture. I guess I hoped I could develop my academic career."

"Is there anything stopping you from still doing that?" Elijah asked.

John thought for a moment.

"I… I guess not. So long as I'm able to pull myself together and stand up in front of a lecture theatre full of people."

"Did you ever have trouble with that before?" Elijah asked.

John gave a small laugh.

"No. I actually enjoyed it."

"So what makes you think it will be difficult now?"

"Because…" _Because everyone will look at me and they'll know. They'll know what I've done. They'll see how pathetic I am_. "Because…"

Elijah cocked his head to one side. Those green eyes were nearly hypnotic. John could not look away.

"You didn't bullshit me before," Elijah said. "Don't start now." He tugged on one earlobe. "My ears are finely tuned bullshit detectors. They'd need to be, after living with Matthew for all these years."

This time, John's laugh was louder.

"Okay, okay," he said. He paused and breathed deeply. "I guess I think that…"

But he stumbled on the words again. _I can't. I can't say it_.

As it turned out, he didn't have to.

"You think that everyone will be looking at you," Elijah said, "knowing that there's something wrong with you. Knowing that you're broken and dirty and that you're not worth a cent."

The starkness of the words brought grief to John's eyes but he kept it under control. He nodded.

"Something like that," he said.

Elijah's eyes were softer now. Again, John couldn't look away.

"I know what that feels like," he said. "To feel like you walk down the street with a sign above your head that says 'broken' or 'filthy' – or 'faggot' in my case, once they found out my attacker was a man."

He let out a derogatory laugh. Everything about him deflated a little, as though his life was escaping through a slow leak.

"How old were you again?" John asked.

"Nine. I was nine."

"Was…" John stopped. _Should I really ask these questions?_

Elijah gave him a weary smile.

"Go ahead," he said. "Ask. I don't normally talk about it but, in your case, I'll make an exception."

John nodded.

"Thanks. Was it…bad?"

Elijah looked away again.

"Yes," he said.

For the first time since he had returned home, John found himself on the listening end. For what felt like thousands of times, he had been the one divulging the horror. Now, he was the audience for another's story. At first, his stomach churned and he almost asked Elijah to stop. _This is too much. It's too horrible. He was_ nine. _And I thought Amelia was young._

However, in a strange way, it felt like he was getting back to work. How many times had he been on Thunderbird Five, listening as people told him the tales of their accidents or traumas or perils? In truth, this wasn't much different.

In truth, it felt as though someone really understood.

"I know why you think you'll never recover," Elijah said, kicking the ground with his left foot. "It does feel like that. I didn't really know what to do. I didn't tell anyone for a long time. I didn't even have the _words_ to tell anyone at that age. Matthew got it out of me eventually." He gave another short, derisive laugh. "Our foster carers didn't believe me at first."

"You were foster kids?" John asked. "That must have been tough."

Elijah shrugged.

"Yeah, it was," he said. "We sort of bounced around the system for a while. They didn't want to separate us but it was hard to find a placement because – well, let's just say we both developed problems after I was…" He paused as though steeling himself to say his next word. "…abused. Matthew didn't understand. It was the first time that I had experienced something that he had no idea about. He couldn't help me and it caused all kinds of behaviour problems with him. He became angry, aggressive. He was suspended from school at least three times a year. Then there was me." He looked at John again. "Did you know that I used to be gregarious as a kid? I was pretty much the same as Matthew is now. But, after everything that happened to me, I sort of lost my way for a long time. I didn't see the world the same way anymore. I didn't feel like I was part of it, so I withdrew from it."

 _I can understand that,_ John thought. _Sometimes I wake up and can't face the thought of getting out of bed._

"Did someone eventually believe you?" he asked.

"Thankfully, yes," he said. "I told one of my teachers and that started off a whole investigation. But two years had passed by then. They never got the guy." Elijah's face hardened. "It burns me up inside sometimes, to think that he could have gone on and done that to another kid, or two more, or three more. Maybe… Maybe if I had pushed the issue more, been more assertive and forced people to believe me, that wouldn't have been possible."

This time it was John's turn to reach out to the other man. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"You don't know if anyone else was abused," he said, "so don't beat yourself up about that. And, well, you were nine years old. What else could you do? You can't force an adult to listen to you. There's no need to blame yourself. It wasn't your fault."

John found himself pinned down by a green gaze again. His words repeated in his mind. _There's no need to blame yourself. It wasn't your fault_. He withdrew his hand and peered into the pushchair. Lyra was still snoozing in the shade.

"I guess that's something I need to think about, too," John said. "I keep beating myself up about what happened to me."

"But it wasn't your fault."

John nodded.

"It wasn't my fault," he repeated. _Keep saying that. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault_.

"Knowing that isn't going to magically make everything better," Elijah continued, "but that, plus being grateful for the fact you're still alive, will help a lot."

"How long did it take you to recover?" John asked.

The other man looked up, his mouth twisting with thought.

"For me, since I was so young and didn't get any help for several years, it did take a long time. In fact, I'd say I only started to really feel better about five years ago. That's when I decided to go to the Central African Republic. I realised that I could either roll over and let what happened destroy me, or I could do something positive with my life. So I did."

John nodded.

"And… Are there some things that you still find hard?"

Elijah dropped his chin to his chest.

"Some things," he said. "I… I can't really have – how can I put this? – _intimate_ relationships." He shook his head. "Those kids weren't wrong when they said 'faggot.'" He laughed again, that grating, self-depreciating chuckle, and stared up at the sky. "If I could like girls, I would. But I can't. But I also can't go through with anything with men because…" His voice dropped off. "Sorry. This conversation has probably strayed into 'too much information' territory."

"It's fine," John said. "I'm sorry."

"It might be something you have problems with," Elijah said.

John shook his head, one corner of his mouth rising in a smile.

"I've never had problems with women before," he said, "because I've never been near a woman in that way. Nor would I ever want to, regardless of what Grace did."

Elijah's eyes widened.

"Oh," he said. "Well, that's good, I guess…"

"I think it'll take me a long time to trust anyone like that again," he said. "Then again, I was hardly the world's number one stud in the first place. When your address for half the year is 'somewhere in the South Pacific' and for the other half it's 'second star to the right and straight on 'til morning,' it's not exactly easy to have a relationship."

Lyra started to whine a little. John rocked the pushchair back and forth without thinking. Elijah sat back and stared around the garden.

"This is a lovely place," he said. "It's nice and peaceful. I imagine it's a good place to go to escape from your brothers."

"Oh, yeah," John said. "It's a little chunk of paradise."

Elijah gestured from the foliage and flowers to the blue sky.

"This whole place is paradise," he said. "It's a long way away from the rocky shores of Donegal."

"But they're beautiful in their own way, I'm sure," John said.

"Beautiful, yes," Elijah said, a chuckle in his voice, "but that's when you're able to see them through the fog and the rain – or when it's not too miserable to go outside!"

"Is the Irish weather really as bad as they say?" John asked.

With another shrug, Elijah smiled.

"A lot of the time, yeah," he said, "especially on the west coast." His voice took on a wistful tone. "I haven't been back in nearly six years now. Maybe when Matthew and I take our leave, we'll go home for a few weeks. See if all the rocks and rainclouds are still there."

Chuckling, John peered into the pushchair as Lyra keened again. She settled quickly, bringing one little fist up to the side of her head.

Elijah stood and wandered over to a vibrant red plant.

"This is my favourite," he said. "I have no idea what it is, but I like it."

John rose and joined him.

" _Crocosmia_ ," he said, fingering one of the long fronds with a parade of red blossoms along it. "Otherwise known as coppertips or falling stars – and sometimes as Lucifer."

Elijah raised an eyebrow. John shrugged.

"Gordon is right," Elijah said. "You are a nerd."

"And proud of it," John said. He ran one of the long stems through his hand. The he turned to catch the other man's gaze. "Elijah, thanks for listening to me. And for telling me your story."

"It's okay," Elijah said. "It's my job to help you get better. Sometimes, what the patient needs isn't a pill or a bandage. What they really need is a bit of understanding."

At that moment, John's stomach growled. He placed a hand on his belly, feeling his cheeks go pink.

"But my diagnosis now is hunger," Elijah said. "The cure for that is simple: food."

"I didn't even realise I was hungry," John replied. "Let's get some dinner. I'm sure the others won't mind if we don't wait."

He returned to the pushchair and grasped the handle. The two men started to walk back to the villa.

There was a little more bounce in John's step.


	27. Stepping Up

Alan's face was a picture of misery, though John couldn't blame him for it. As he watched his brother cuddle his son, he thought about how difficult it must have been to leave your child for so long. _I'll bet he hates satellite duty even more now,_ John thought. _It's understandable._

Most of the family were lingering in the lounge, although Virgil and Gordon were engaged in what was likely a heated tennis match. John and Elijah had been playing chess – or rather, John had been teaching Elijah how to play in between attending to Lyra. She was lying contentedly in a bright pink baby bouncer – one of the many gifts from Lady Penelope – and was staring up at the rocket ship mobile that John had added.

Every step that Alan took seemed laboured, as if his feet were encased in concrete. Scott looked up from his newspaper and shook his head.

"Don't look so glum, Alan," he said. "Adam isn't going anywhere. And before you know it, it'll be Christmas. Brains is going to pilot his automated monitoring program on Christmas Day, so you'll be planet-side for that at least."

Alan's nose crinkled in disgust.

"Yeah, but I'll miss the whole run-up to the holidays," he said. "I'll miss putting up the decorations, going to the mainland to buy presents, everything.

Tin-Tin cast a furtive look at John and huffed out a short breath.

"You hate Christmas shopping," she said. "So you'll miss that, at least. It's not the end of the world, Alan."

All her fiancé could do was give a nondescript 'hmph' in reply. John looked over to see his father rolling his eyes. _Nothing changes,_ John said. _I've missed far more Christmases than he has. Man up, little bro._

"Come on, Alan," Scott said, folding the newspaper. "It's time to go."

Alan was about to complain but he was cut off after the first syllable when the sunflowers began to blink.

"Uh oh," he said, failing to keep the smile off his face.

Jeff reached for the comm.

"Go ahead, Thunderbird Five," he said.

Matthew appeared on the screen.

"Sir, a magnitude eight earthquake has struck off the coast of Japan's Ogasawara Islands. A group of researchers, who were studying the volcanic caves, are trapped underground. There's no airport on the island and the JASDF can't scramble an aircraft from Iwo Jima – it's also been hit. From what I've been told, one of the researchers is badly injured and in need of medical attention – fast."

"Understood, Thunderbird Five," Jeff said. "Tell them we're on the way."

Matthew nodded and the screen clicked back to the painting. At that point, Gordon and Virgil appeared, red-faced and sweating from their tennis match and subsequent scramble.

"Good, you're all here," Jeff said. He turned to Scott. "Take Thunderbird One to assess the situation."

"F.A.B., Father," he said. "I'll be there within a half hour."

John watched as Alan's smile broke through. Distaste curdled his stomach.

"Virgil," Jeff said, "take Elijah with you. You'll need the Mole."

"Yes, Father."

As he rose, Elijah cast John a sidelong look and tapped his arm.

"Good luck," John said.

Elijah shrugged; John smiled.

"It's old hat at this stage," he said.

As the crew disappeared, Gordon came over to peer at Lyra. John was watching Alan, though, and his disgust was growing.

"I guess I can't start my rotation yet," he said. "Matthew has never flown Thunderbird Three solo. We'll have to wait for Scott to return."

Jeff was about to respond but he didn't get the chance. There was something in the chipper tone of Alan's voice that made John's blood boil. _I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of Alan's ability to weasel out of satellite duty_ , he thought. _It's time that stopped._ So he interjected, keeping his own tone as steady as possible.

"I can double crew on Thunderbird Three," he said.

Alan spun around, his brows drawn together.

" _You_?" he asked.

His incredulousness made John's anger rise even more.

"Yes, _me_ ," he said, trying not to bite his brother's head off but failing miserably. "I was flying spacecraft for the W.S.A. when you were still in college." John turned to his father. "What do you say, Dad?"

There was reluctance on Jeff's face.

"Are you sure, son?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," John said. "It's just a routine trip that I've taken hundreds of times. I'm fine." Then he gave Alan a look that could cut glass. "Besides, I was to see what kind of state my 'Bird has been left in."

"Don't blame me," Alan said. His expression was one of pure fury. "I'm not the rookie and or the one who's out of practice."

The temptation to let his fist connect with his younger brother's face was almost too much. Somehow, John managed to keep a lid on his temper. Gordon looked as though he was ready to deliver a swift lesson in manners, too. John had to give his arm a warning squeeze.

Then, with pointed movements, John lowered himself onto the couch that would bring them to Thunderbird Three's silo. He folded his arms and nodded at his father.

"Okay," Jeff said. "It is just a routine trip. I know we don't normally switch mid-rescue, but you can launch now. That will give you enough time for a quick inspection of Thunderbird Five."

"But Father –"

"No 'buts', Alan," Jeff said. "We all need to make sacrifices for the good of the outfit."

Tin-Tin shook her head as she approached her pouting partner.

"I know you're upset, Alan, but everything will be fine."

Both she and Adam gave him a final hug before the youngest Tracy flopped down onto the couch.

"Have a safe flight," Tin-Tin said, smiling at both brothers.

"We will," John said.

And so, for the first time in nearly a year, John found himself descending into the bowels of Tracy Island.

By the time they reached the silo, Alan still hadn't spoken to him. John didn't care. His heart was fluttering with excitement – and perhaps a little panic – at the idea that he would soon be off the planet. He almost didn't manage to keep his jaw closed as the monumental Thunderbird Three came into view. _I had forgotten how impressive it is!_ he thought.

When the couch was finally in place, Alan stomped off to the flight deck while John lingered. _I've missed this…_

He had also missed the softness of his blue uniform as it slid over his skin and the familiar weight of the lilac sash across his chest. The International Rescue logo settled over his heart. John traced its outline with one finger. _It feels like I'm finally home._

 **~oOo~**

"What have you done to my station?"

John didn't know where to start. There were things out of place... _everywhere_. It wasn't that it was untidy; it was just that it wasn't _right_.

"Whatever, John," Alan said, his voice fading as he disappeared into the sleeping quarters to stow his gear.

Matthew gave John an apologetic smile and shrugged in much the same way that Elijah did.

"Sorry," he said.

His resemblance to his twin was still uncanny, though now that John had spent time with Elijah, he could see a few subtle differences. Matthew's freckles were not as pronounced - possibly as a result of spending every other month in space - and he had fewer worry lines around his eyes. Everything about his body language was more relaxed, as if he were at complete ease with himself. _It's almost like he's how Elijah would have looked if he hadn't had such a horrific time as a kid_. Something about that made John's chest tighten.

Realisation kicked in.

 _Oh, boy,_ he thought. _I..._

John couldn't finish the thought as fear and anticipation, joy and terror, whirled around in his mind. The maelstrom of emotion must have been clear on his face, as Matthew frowned in response.

"You alright there, lad?" he asked.

 _Yes. I've just realised that I'm attracted to your twin. And no, for the very same reason._

"I'm fine," John said, then abruptly changed the subject. "How is the rescue going?"

Matthew gave him a look that was one part surprise and three parts suspicion and turned to the control panels.

"Thunderbird Two has just arrived at the danger zone," he said. "I'll switch on the feed."

He was about to flick the comm. but John got there first. His brothers' voices filled the air.

" _Okay, Virgil_ ," Scott said. " _I've been in contact with the trapped researchers. They've confirmed that one of their group was caught under falling debris. They managed to free her but she's losing a lot of blood._ "

" _All right, Scott_ ," Virgil said. " _I've located a place to set down. It'll be tricky and I don't want to leave Thunderbird Two on the ground due to the tremors. Elijah is going to take the Mole in solo_."

" _F.A.B., Virg. Elijah, are you ready for this?_ " There was an element of concern in his tone.

"You'll be fine, bro," Matthew said.

Elijah's voice was testy when he answered.

" _I know that_ ," he snapped.

"And so do we," John said, giving Matthew a scathing look.

There was a momentary silence.

" _John_?" Scott asked. " _Where are you_?"

"On Five," he said. "I double-crewed with Alan. We're sticking around until the rescue is over and then I'll bring Matthew down again."

" _Do you have to_?"

Elijah's voice was so deadpan that John had to laugh. Matthew parodied a look of hurt, splaying his fingers against his chest.

"I am wounded," he said.

" _Okay, John_ ," Scott interjected. " _Maybe you can whip things back into shape up there_."

"Another wound!" Matthew cried, though a smile cracked his mock-offended expression.

John palmed his face and shook his head as a grin spread across his face.

"It's good to be back to work."

 **~oOo~**

The rescue went well; within two hours, Thunderbird Two was transporting the researchers to the Japanese mainland. Even though he hadn't been part of the rescue, even on comms., a sense of achievement swelled up in John's chest. _Maybe it's more about the fact that I'm up here. I've overcome another hurdle._

He wouldn't have been able to stand up and make his case to their father had it not been for the intensive therapy sessions he had received. _November was tough, but the hard work was worth it,_ he thought. _And it enabled me to make another big request._

On the 23rd of December, he would be flying out to Wellington to collect a very special visitor: Amelia. Both she and Georgie would be spending the holidays on Tracy Island. It hadn't taken much convincing to get his father to agree.

"Well," Jeff had said as he mulled the thought over, "they both know about the outfit already - and it wouldn't be the first time we had visitors for Christmas."

John had chuckled then, remembering the sight of his father dressed as Santa Claus and the sound of his brothers' atrocious carolling over the comm.

Georgie had readily accepted the offer of a free vacation to a tropical paradise - snow or not - and thus the plans were put in place.

Matthew hefted a large rucksack onto his back and planted his hands on his hips.

"Well, let's get going!" he said. "I want to feel the ground beneath my feet again."

"That suits me," John said. "Got everything you need, Alan?"

The younger blond had stopped sulking and now seemed resigned to his fate.

"Yeah, yeah," he said.

John gestured to the airlock.

"Okay. We'll see you in a few weeks."

Alan waved them off and soon enough, Three was released from the docking ring. _It's amazing how it all comes back to you_ , John said as he adjusted their heading. The blue and white orb of Earth filled the view screen; Matthew whistled through his teeth.

"It never stops being beautiful," he said.

"Too true," John replied.

Then Matthew's expression changed. It became almost...devilish.

"So..." he said. Suspicion rose. "When are you going to ask my brother out?" he asked.

John almost sent Thunderbird Three into a roll.

" _What_?" he asked.

Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Don't play the innocent card with me, fella. I saw your expression when you saw me - you saw _him_. And then your face lit up when you heard his voice..." His grin became even more mischievous. "Oh, and also he told me he likes you."

"What - I don't -" John spluttered.

He was saved by the comm. _Thank the gods!_

" _Thunderbird Three,_ " Alan said, " _I hope you haven't gone too far_."

"Go ahead, Alan," John replied, his face growing hot. "We're still in the neighbourhood."

" _We've had a distress call from the World Space Association. An automated supply shuttle has gone haywire and crashed into Space Station Icarus. There's been an explosion and their oxygen supply has been compromised - as have some of their EVA suits. They estimated that they have less than twenty minutes until they're out of breathable atmosphere_. _The W.S.A. can't get a rescue crew there on time._ "

John adjusted his heading again, this time to take them out of their descent trajectory.

"Okay, Alan. Send me the co-ordinates."

There was a pause.

" _Don't you want to come back here? We can swap out_."

"Send me the co-ordinates," John said again.

There was no arguing with his tone. _I can do this_ , he thought. _It's what I was born to do and nothing - or no-one - is going to hold me back._

Matthew held out his fist. It took a few moments for John to realise what he wanted. Then he realised and returned the fist bump.

"Let's do this," John said.

"Aye-aye, sir!"


	28. Courage

Handling the ship like a pro, John sent them hurtling towards the stricken space station. The explosion had knocked its orbit and one of the bulkheads was open like a gaping wound.

"I hope no one was in that compartment when it blew," Matthew said.

John fired the retros to slow International Rescue's spaceship down.

"Okay, Alan," John said. "We've arrived. Can you patch us through to the crew?"

" _I'm attempting a comm. bridge now_."

After a moment, sounds blasted into Three's cockpit.

" _You're patched into their comms.,_ " Alan said. " _Icarus crew, assistance has arrived_."

The crew's distress was palpable. They could hear everything that was going on inside their helmets. The laboured breathing, the whimpers of pain, the fear of an inevitable death.

John clutched the controls so hard his knuckles went white. In his mind's eye, it was Amelia inside the stricken station. It was himself who was in fear of his life. It was all too much.

 _No, it's not,_ he thought. _Do your job, Tracy._

"Icarus crew, this is International Rescue," he said. "We'll attempt to dock and bring you aboard."

" _Negative, International Rescue._ " A woman's voice cut through the rest of the noise. " _Our port has been damaged. You won't be able to dock_."

There was another surge of fear over the comm.

"Don't worry," he said. "How much O2 do you have remaining in your suits?"

Four voices spoke at once and John brought his hand up to one ear.

"Please, one at a time," he said.

The woman's voice overruled the others.

" _Three of us have around half a tank but my suit was damaged. I only have around five minutes until my tanks are empty and it's goodnight Grace_."

 _Grace_.

Matthew stepped in as he saw John stumble.

"Never worry," he said. "We'll bring you aboard in two, then."

John breathed in deeply and unbuckled his restraints. _It's not her. It's someone else_.

"I'm going EVA," he said. "Take the controls. Bring her in as close as you can to minimise the distance I need to travel."

"Are you gonna be alright?" Matthew asked.

John was already exiting the cockpit on the way to retrieve his space suit.

"Why wouldn't I be? Just keep Three steady."

As he slid into the EVA suit, John's heart was thundering. His muscles were tense and he felt as if every fibre of his being was coiled in anticipation. _You can do this_ , he thought. _You've logged hundreds of EVA hours. You're not a rookie._

Steadying his nerves, John entered the airlock and readied his tether.

"Okay, Matthew," he said, his own voice sounding tinny in the helmet. "Open her up."

" _F.A.B., boss_."

Soundlessly, the airlock slid open and John attached his tether to the side of the ship. For the briefest of moments, he looked out into the vast expanse of space, at the blackness that reached in all directions. _That's how I felt_ , he thought. _Empty. Totally empty._ Then he looked down at the planet below, at the thick covering of clouds and protruding thunderhead storms over what could only have been the Amazon basin. It was visceral, beautiful, powerful… _Alive_.

 _Like me_.

Feeling better than he had in nearly a year, John pushed himself out of the airlock. With his own momentum, he made his way across the expanse of blank space, manoeuvring with the EVA suit's thrusters. The space station grew closer and soon enough, he found himself at one of the access ports. He clipped the other end of his tether to the station.

"Icarus crew, I'm at access port L-5. Can you open the airlock for me?"

" _I'll try now, International Rescue_ ," a new voice said.

"Hang in there," John said.

Within ten seconds, the airlock opened and John entered. There was little point in closing the inner door, since there was no remaining atmosphere in the station. As soon as the airlock opened, all eyes were on him. It was a small crew, only four in total – plenty for a tiny research outpost.

"Someone call for a ride?" he asked.

"Grace is nearly out of air," one of the others said, scooping the woman up in his arms. They floated towards him with ease. "She needs to get back into breathable atmo straight away."

"Okay," John said, reaching out to take her. "I'll bring her over first. The rest of you can follow. Clip yourselves onto the tether line outside. Can you make it across yourselves? Is anyone injured?"

"We're fine, International Rescue," the crewman said. "Just scared as hell. We can make it."

Using a spare cable and heavy-duty carabineer, John secured the woman to his own suit and headed back for the airlock. He peered at her face and saw that her eyes were closing, her lips starting to take on a blue hue.

"I've got you, Grace," he said, trying not to stumble on the name. "I've got you."

The trip back to Thunderbird Three was difficult but not impossible. With the help of his suit's thrusters, John managed to get the woman back on board. He asked Matthew to cycle the airlock to allow him to get her back into breathable atmosphere without waiting on the other crewmembers.

When he unclipped her helmet, air rushed into her lungs and she gasped.

"Oh my God," she wheezed.

"Ssh, shh." John said, laying her helmet aside. "Don't speak just yet. Breathe."

The airlock cycled again and the three other crew members entered, casting aside their own helmets.

"Grace? Is she okay?"

"Grace is fine," the woman said. She tried to sit up but John stopped her with a firm hand. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. "Thanks, International Rescue."

John smiled.

"Any time. That's what we're here for."

" _All aboard_?" Matthew's voice called through the comm.

"All aboard," John repeated. "Start descent protocols," he said.

" _Uh –_ "

John cut off Matthew's protest straight away.

"I'll be there in five," John said. "You can do it."

" _F.A.B._ "

 _He'll never get there if he doesn't try_ , John thought. Then he returned his attention to the crew.

"Follow me," he said, reaching out a hand to Grace. "I'll take you to your seats."

She accepted it, their gloved hands crinkling as John pulled her to her feet.

"Fancy rocket," she said. "I'm glad you were nearby."

"So am I," John said.

 _For more reasons than you will ever know._

 **~oOo~**

When he found himself outside Matthew and Elijah's Cliff House apartment, John wasn't quite sure what his intentions were. _I'm just here to see a friend?_ he thought. _That's all_. Lyra was with her grandfather, since by the time John had returned from the rescue, she was already asleep for the evening.

It turned out that he wasn't the only visitor. The figure that opened the door was not either of the twins; it was Gordon.

"John!"

He found himself enveloped in a tight hug. He stiffened, not quite knowing what to do.

"Hey, Gords," he said, awkwardly patting his brother on the back.

"Good job today, kiddo!" Gordon said.

John knew he was pouting but he couldn't stop himself.

" _Kiddo_?" he asked, incredulous. "You're the _kiddo_ around here, you baby-faced squid child."

Gordon waved him off and jogged back into the apartment.

"Johnny's here," he said as he vaulted over the couch, landing heavily.

"Whoa, G-Man!" Matthew said as he bounced upwards. "You're going to make me die – no, no, _no_ , _NO_!"

There was the unmistakable sound of a character dying and as John approached, he saw that the two men were playing some kind of video game – something gore-filled from the look of it. He glanced over to the kitchenette and saw Elijah sitting at the breakfast bar with his head propped up on one hand.

"Christ, save me," he said. "These two are complete bin lids."

John chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

"Bin lids?"

"Idiots," Elijah clarified.

John chuckled anew. Gordon had grabbed the controller from Matthew and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Let me show you how a real man does it," he said.

Matthew jabbed him back.

"A real man? I'll show you a real man!"

Suddenly the two were a tangle of arms and legs and flailing fists. John let his arms hang loosely at his sides and blinked. Elijah covered his face and shook his head.

"This is the third time they've been rolling around on the floor," he said, voice muffled by his hand.

As Gordon and Matthew continued to wrestle, Elijah stood and walked over to John, whose face was pulled with amusement as the two redheads tumbled around the floor, knocking game controllers and empty soft drink cans every which way.

"Looks like Gordon has found a new playmate," he said.

Elijah motioned towards the French windows that led to the patio area. John nodded and the two men escaped from the cacophony of their brothers' roughhousing.

It was a clear night with a balmy temperature. The two men leaned on the balcony wall. John was immediately looking up at the stars. When he saw a familiar constellation, he nudged Elijah.

"There's one for you guys," he said. "Gemini. The Twins."

Elijah squinted his eyes.

"Where? I can't see it?"

John pointed; Elijah tried to follow the sight line.

"Up there. Can you see that bright, orangey star?"

"Yeah."

"That's Pollux, or _Beta Geminorum_. It marks the head of one of the twins. The one just up and to the right is Castor – _Alpha Geminorum_. The rest of the stars look like their bodies. In fact, they look like they're holding hands."

"Oh yeah," Elijah said. "I see it now."

"They're supposed to represent Castor and Pollux or Romulus and Remus – depending on the mythology," John said.

Elijah shook his head.

"I don't care much for myths and legends," he said. "Tell me something scientific about them. Something that actually makes sense. Something that's factual."

John was a little taken aback. _Hardly anyone asks me about the science of stars_. He gathered his thoughts for a moment before beginning.

"Well, Pollux is about 34 light years away and has approximately twice the mass of our sun. The Castor you see isn't really one star but is actually a six star system with three binary stars orbiting around each other."

"Wow," Elijah said. "That's cool. What other constellations are visible at the moment?"

Feeling a little braver, John took Elijah's hand and uncurled his index finger, pointing it to the right of Gemini. It felt as though his heart was palpitating but he managed to keep his voice steady.

"Just there is the constellation Taurus – or the Bull."

Elijah made no attempt to retract his hand.

"Tell me about it," he said.

"Its brightest star is called Aldebaran. In fact, it's one of the brightest objects in the night sky. It's 65 million light years away and is classified as a K5III star. Its diameter is about 44 times the size of the sun's."

"Wow," Elijah breathed again.

"It's pretty awesome."

Elijah turned towards him. They were on par for height, so their eyes met easily. They stood there for a time, simply looking. _I don't know what's going on any more_ , John thought, _but I don't care_.

So much had happened that day. Not only had he been back on both Thunderbird Three and Thunderbird Five, but he had proved to everyone – including himself – that he wasn't a delicate flower in need of constant protection. _I still have a ways to go,_ he though, _but at least I know I'm getting there_.

There were butterflies in his stomach. Elijah dropped his gaze for a moment. John looked down too and saw what his companion was looking at. Their fingers were interlocked.

They looked at one another again. Then…

" _Gah_!"

They leapt apart as the French windows flew open and Gordon and Matthew burst out onto the patio, limbs flailing in all directions.

"Dammit!" Gordon said.

"Christ on a bike," said Matthew. "That door's catch isn't very strong!"

"We weren't spying," Gordon said, straightening up and brushing down the front of his shirt.

"Nope," Matthew said, nodding his head with vehemence. "We were…checking the glass for cracks."

"Yup, cracks. That's it."

John folded his arms; Elijah did the same. Then, in unison, the two began to laugh.

The sound was musical and it carried far.


	29. Nightmares

He woke to complete darkness. John tried to sit up but he was yanked backwards.

"What the... My wrists!"

Feeling panic close around his neck, John tried to wrench his wrists free from their restraints. He tried to move his legs; it was no use. He was trapped, chained to the bed. His breath came in ragged gasps; he couldn't get enough oxygen. His head whirled and his stomach lurched.

"Help!" he screamed. "Get me out of here! I can't go back to this!"

The door opened with a theatrical creak, showing that a figure was silhouetted against the brightness.

It walked towards him.

"Hello, John."

There was Grace.

Try as he might, he couldn't break free of the restraints. The bit into his wrists, drawing blood. _Fuck, fuck, fuck..._

"I'm still here," Grace whispered, reaching out one a claw-like hand to stroke his face. "I'll always be here." She pressed a finger to his forehead. "I'll always be _right here_..."

Roaring, John wrenched himself free and suddenly he was on his feet, poised to strike. But there was no one there. He was alone, in his own room in the villa, with the moonlight painting everything blue.

But he wasn't alone. Not truly. She was there, right in his head, bored inside like a parasite. John grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled.

"Get out of my life!"

Rational thought left him then. He ran.

 **~oOo~**

A door slammed and Scott sat bolt upright in bed. _What was that?_ Brotherly instincts afire, he leapt out of bed, grabbed his robe and made for the door. He discovered that he wasn't the only one in the hallway. Gordon was already there, bleary-eyed with a tousled bed-head.

"Did you hear it too?" he asked. "The bang?"

"Yeah," Scott replied.

Gordon's frown was highlighted in moonlight.

"John?" he asked.

"Possibly," Scott replied. "In fact, probably."

Gordon crossed to their brother's room and poked his head inside.

"Empty," he said.

At that point, Virgil appeared in his doorway.

"What goes on here?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Scott said. "But I don't think it's good."

"He can't have gone far," Gordon said. "Let's split up. We'll find him."

"Find who?" Virgil asked, still struggling in a haze of sleepiness.

"John," Scott said. "I think that slam was his door. He's gone."

Virgil was suddenly, painfully awake.

"Shit," he said.

"Right."

 **~oOo~**

Where was he going? John had no idea. All he knew was that he had to get as far away from the villa as possible. Grace had invaded that most sacred space. She had invaded his _home_. Now even it was no longer safe. His bare feet slapped against the hard floors as he escaped out onto the balcony and fled down towards the pool, past it, and out into the darkness.

 _I'll always be right here…_

 **~oOo~**

"John! Where are you, buddy?"

Gordon's words echoed in the blankness of night. He could hear the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. He could hear the sigh of the wind as it rustled the palm trees. But he could not hear his brother. There was simply no response.

His wrist comm. bleeped.

" _Gordon, have you found anything?_ "

Scott's voice was strained. Gordon lifted his wrist and shook his head.

"Not so much as a fleeting glance," he said.

" _Me neither_ ," Scott responded. " _I think we need a few more sets of eyes. I'm considering going up in One to search with the thermal camera_."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Gordon said. "As for more eyes, I'll wake up the twins. I'm not far from the Cliff House."

" _F.A.B_.," Scott said. " _Keep me informed_."

"Will do," Gordon said, before turning on his heel and heading for the Cliff House.

There was no point in being polite about it, so Gordon hammered his fist on the apartment door.

"Guys," he called. "Up-up! We need you!"

After around half a minute, a bleary-eyed twin opened the door. Gordon wasn't sure which one it was.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is there an emergency?"

"No, Matt," Gordon said, making a guess. "But there is a situation."

"It's Elijah," the twin responded, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?"

In the background, the real Matthew lumbered into view.

"Wassup?" he grunted. "It's three o'clock in the blessed a.m.!" He looked at Gordon. "And you're nearly naked!"

Gordon looked down. For the first time he realised that all he was wearing was a pair of boxers.

"Never mind that," he said, his face flushing. "John's gone missing."

All tiredness was gone from Elijah's face.

"Missing?" he asked.

"Yeah. We're not sure what happened but there was a crash - it must have been his door slamming - and then he was gone. We've been searching but we can't find him. Scott's going to go up in One to look using the cameras."

Elijah, clad in nothing more than a loose green t-shirt and a pair of shorts, shook his head.

"I think I know where he'll be," he said.

"Where?" Gordon asked.

But he had already sped past. Matthew shrugged on a light robe and ran a hand through his hair; it was sticking out in all directions.

"Typical," he said.

Gordon nodded. Then, without another word, they followed.

 **~oOo~**

When he finally stopped, John fell to his knees. The gravel of the path dug into his skin, burning his shins, but he didn't care. The tall foliage of Kyrano's garden rose up above him. Leaves waved in the breeze, shuffling against one another. Partially obscured, the moon peaked in, as if it were curious about his misery.

He did everything he could not to cry. _This is stupid. This is crazy._ I'm _crazy!_

A choked sob echoed into the darkness. A stem of falling stars moved in the wind and brushed his arm. _Crocosmia,_ he thought. _Lucifer._ Its redness had been leeched by the night. Instead, the flowers looked inky and dark.

Looking away from them, John swallowed his misery but thoughts kept washing up anew. _I'm ruined. Destroyed. Broken. I keep thinking that I'm getting better but I'm not. Deep down, I'll never be the same again._ _Never, ever._

Fury rose within him like the fire of hell itself. He erupted.

"I can't _do_ this anymore!"

His words echoed and fled on the breeze, leaving him alone in the darkness.

"Yes, you can."

At those quiet words, he wrenched his head around and stumbled to his feet. The gravel bit into his soles. When he saw who it was, shame slapped him.

"Get away from me," he growled. "Stay away."

Elijah held his hands out, palms up, and shook his head.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I'm not leaving."

"Fuck you," John spat. _Just get away from me. Get away!_

Elijah's expression didn't change; he didn't even flinch.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated.

John could feel the handprint of humiliation burning on his cheek. He knew he was being irrational. He knew he was being insufferable - even downright offensive. But he didn't know what else to do. _If I let him in, I'll just get hurt again. I'm not worth the hassle. I'm not worth anything._

Elijah took a few steps forward. John raised his fists. _What are you going to do, punch him?_

"Go away," he snapped.

Elijah stepped forward again.

"I said, go away!"

He kept coming.

"I'm warning you!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Elijah repeated, his tone gentle.

Feral, John's eyes were wide. His breath was coming quickly, like sharp jabs to the chest. His muscles were burning. Then Elijah was within striking distance.

And John pounced.

With fistfuls of Elijah's shirt, John knocked him to the ground. Gravel was flying in all directions as they struggled and soon his fists were raining down on the other man's head and chest.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" he screamed. "Why won't you let me be?"

Just like on the rescue, reality had melted and it wasn't Elijah he was seeing. It was Grace.

"Get out of my _head_!"

All of a sudden, John found his fists stopped, enveloped in Elijah's hands. He was being held still and upright, the other man taking all his weight. John snapped back to reality to see that Elijah's left cheek was swelling and a small line of blood was trickling from a split lip.

And yet those green eyes were still soft with compassion. John's heart clenched.

"Oh, God," he said. _What have I done?_ "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He was lowered and found himself lying on Elijah's chest, his head burrowed into the other man's neck. He could feel both of their heartbeats pounding.

"I'm sorry," John said, his voice muffled by skin and emotion.

"It's okay," Elijah said. "I understand."

For the first time in years, John allowed himself to be held. It was different from a hug from one of his brothers; this was intimate. He inhaled the comfort of the other man's scent, allowed Elijah to run his fingers through his hair, permitted himself to find solace in another person's embrace. The leaves rustled and the wind sighed. Slowly, the terror of the night began to recede.

"It feels like she's stuck in my head," he whispered at length. "I thought I was getting better but I'm not sure that I ever can be."

"John, you are getting better," Elijah said, giving him a squeeze. "Think of everything you've achieved in such a short space of time. You've only been back for, what, six or seven weeks? You've already got back in the saddle in terms of rescues, you've bonded with your daughter, you've settled back into your family. You're doing really well."

Rolling over onto the gravel, John stared up at the sky. Pinprick stars were glimmering overhead.

"I wasn't doing well tonight," he mumbled.

"What happened to set you off so badly?" Elijah asked.

John closed his eyes. It all felt so silly now.

"I had a nightmare," he said. "I was back there, in that horrible place. I thought I was chained up again. I thought... I thought she was going to..."

Anguish slipped down his cheeks in hot trails. He opened his eyes when he felt a thumb wipe away his tears.

"It will get better," Elijah said. "It's going to take a while but you will survive this. You _are_ surviving this."

John nodded and sat up, rubbing gravel and dust off his arms and the backs of his legs as they both stood.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, motioning to Elijah's face. "And..." He gulped under the weight of his own meaning. "I don't want to hurt you in any other ways. I know that... Between us... We might... But..."

Elijah placed a finger to his own bleeding lip to silence John.

"Whatever happens, happens," he said. "You have your issues. Hell, I have mine." He gave a short, self-depreciating laugh. Then his face softened again. "All I want to do at the moment is be here for you. Maybe later, things will change. But what you need right now is a friend. And that's what I'll be."

Not knowing quite what to say, John said nothing. Instead, he reached out to pull the other man into a hug. They stayed like that for a few moments.

"How did you know I would be here?" John asked, playing with the hair at the nape of Elijah's neck. "How did you even know to look for me?"

Elijah gave him a final squeeze before releasing him from the embrace.

"Gordon woke us," he said. "They must have heard you."

John put his head in his hands, his face colouring again.

"Oh, God. I'm mortified."

Elijah placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure they'll understand. Now c'mon, we should let them know you're safe."

A new voice interjected.

"Already done."

The two men turned to see Gordon and Matthew standing at the garden archway.

"We didn't want to interrupt," Matthew said.

Before John could apologise again, he found himself once more enveloped in Gordon's arms.

"Do not stress about this, Johnny," he said, his tone firm. "We're all here for you."

"Thanks, little brother," John replied.

Then they broke apart and the little group left the garden, heading for the villa. John was flanked on one side by Gordon and on the other by Elijah. _Somehow, I'll survive this,_ he thought. Then he allowed himself a brief grin. _I don't think I'll be given any choice in the matter._


	30. Preparations

Hanging the last string of tinsel, Gordon kissed the tips of his fingers, then opened them with a flourish.

" _Et voila_!" he said. "Decorating complete!"

Virgil gave him a withering look as he struggled to unfurl the branches of the enormous, fake fir tree.

"I wish," he grumbled. "Get your butt down here and help me."

Gordon leapt from the small stepladder he had been using and landed heavily at the base of the tree.

"Make way for the expert," he said.

Virgil rolled his eyes.

It was December 23rd and the boys had been awakened at the crack of dawn by their grandmother. All of them had been hard at work ever since. The villa was, slowly but surely, becoming a Christmas paradise. Just as they had for the Christmas when Nicky from the children's hospital stayed, the Tracys were pulling out all the stops for their visitors. Over the course of the day, the halls had been decked, the air had been filled with the smell of cinnamon, and Virgil had even practiced a carol or two at the piano – with no singing, of course. He shuddered. He didn't want to experience _that_ again.

Now, he and Gordon were about to trim the brand new tree, Scott was on his way back to Earth with Alan in tow, and Tin-Tin and John had flown to the mainland to pick up their guests. Jeff was babysitting; Grandma and Kyrano were cooking; Brains was monitoring the progress of Thunderbird Five's automated protocol. The twins were…somewhere. Grunting as he finally jammed the main stalk of the tree in its stand, Virgil recapped his thoughts. _Oh, and Penny and Parker will be arriving in Penny's new private jet. Whew! Talk about a full house!_

"Success," Gordon said as the tree clicked into place. "Now for the branches…"

"Ugh," Virgil groused. "I hate this part."

Now it was Gordon's turn to roll his eyes.

"Leave it to me, Grinch," he said. "Go and play some good ol' fashioned Christmas music on the piano. It vill help me vith my masterpiece!"

"With pleasure," Virgil said. He jogged to the piano and settled himself on the bench.

Gordon grinned at the sound of a familiar tune but he stopped and looked up when Virgil began to sing.

"Wreck the Malls this Christmas Season, _fa la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la_."

Gordon guffawed and slapped his thighs. Virgil continued.

"Blow your cash for no good reason, _fa la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la_. Push your charge card to the limit, _fa la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la_.

Gordon butted in with his own line.

"Your account has nothing in it, _fa la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laaaaaaaaaa_."

Laughing, Virgil continued playing, the music underscoring their conversation.

"Speaking of present-buying," he said casually, "what did you get me?"

The look on Gordon's face told him that, in truth, he didn't want to know.

"Oh, mon frère," Gordon said, one eyebrow raised, "you'll love it."

"I'm not so sure I will…"

Gordon's smile was shark-like; Virgil suppressed a shudder and switched to a jazzed up version of 'Jingle Bells.' Gordon was unfurling the last few branches.

"What time should we expect the onslaught?" he asked.

Gordon spat out a few fake pine needles and looked at his watch.

"Scott and Alan will be back any minute now. Tin-Tin and John within two hours. Penny and Parker will be arriving from Bongo-Bongo at around five. Then it'll be all hands to the pumps and action stations as Operation Christmas is go!"

 **~oOo~**

"Stop wringing your hands," Tin-Tin said. "You look so nervous!"

John looked down to see he was doing just that. He forced his arms to hang limply at his sides.

"I _feel_ nervous," he said. "I know I shouldn't but I do!"

Tin-Tin patted his arm and gave him a smile. They were waiting in arrivals in Sydney airport for the appearance of Ameila and Georgie. Quite why he was so trepidatious, John didn't know. Maybe it was the thought that Amelia might not enjoy herself. Maybe it was the thought that she might shun him.

Maybe it was the idea of breaking down in front of her.

Tin-Tin must have sensed his worries as she turned to him and grasped his hand.

"You'll be fine," she said, her dark eyes molten with compassion.

"Thanks, Tin-Tin," John replied. "I sure hope so."

He glanced up at the arrivals board; Fireflash was finally posted as 'landed.' Within ten minutes, the passengers had disembarked and were collecting their luggage.

" _JOHN_!"

As he found himself on the receiving end of a hug that threatened to squeeze the stuffing out of him, John realised that he needn't have worried at all.

"Amelia!"

He returned the hug as tight as he dared.

"That Fireflash is amazing," another voice said.

John rose as Georgie appeared, trailing two wheeled suitcases. He reached out to shake her hand as Amelia hung on to one of his arms.

"Nice to finally meet you in person," John said.

"Same," Georgie replied.

Tin-Tin extended her hand.

"Tin-Tin Kyrano," she said. Georgie returned the handshake warmly. "I'm John's soon-to-be sister-in-law."

"Are we really getting a private jet?" Amelia asked.

Georgie rolled her eyes, though she was smiling; John chuckled.

"Yes, you are," he said.

"This one hasn't stopped harping on about the trip for weeks," Georgie said.

Amelia relinquished John's arm and gave her cousin a cheeky grin.

"I've never been on a holiday before," she said, "unlike some people."

"Oi!" Georgie said, wagging her finger in a mock threat.

"Okay, okay," John said, reaching for Amelia's suitcase. "Let's go before someone gets killed."

"Will I be able to see Lyra when we get there?" Amelia asked as they started to make their way towards the private departures lounge.

John nodded.

"I'm sure you will," he said.

"Yessss!" said Amelia. "I can't want to spend some time with my baby sister."

John looked over his shoulder to Tin-Tin and Georgie. The latter was rolling her eyes again.

"That's another thing she's been harping on about, as well," she said.

Amelia pouted.

"Well, I've never had a sister before either!"

John closed his eyes for a moment, half-smiling and half-wincing. _I hope this trip was a good idea…_

 **~oOo~**

"So how are we going to get the star on top?" Virgil asked.

He planted his hands on his hips and tilted his chin upwards. The new tree was enormous; its top branch scraped the ceiling.

"Do what I did when you were kids," Jeff said. He had arrived with the two babies a few minutes before and was settling Lyra into her bouncer and Adam on the floor at an activity centre. "Lift your brother onto your shoulders. Then he'll be able to reach."

The look of delight on Gordon's face made Virgil blanch.

"Oh, no. Not a chance."

"Please, Virgie?" his little brother asked, all round eyes and quivering lower lip.

"Seriously?" Virgil asked, crossing his arms. "You are seriously using the puppy-dog eyes on me."

"Why is he using the puppy-dog eyes?" Scott entered the lounge, freshly showered after his return from Thunderbird Five. He let out a low whistle of approval. "Nice work, guys."

He made a bee-line for his niece and nephew, kissing them on the forehead one after the other. Virgil shook his head.

"Dad has suggested that I lift Gordon onto my shoulders so he can put the star on the top of the tree."

Scott glanced up.

"It is a very tall tree."

"I know that, Scott," Virgil said. "I _can_ see it."

"So," Scott said, reaching in to tickle Adam's chin. The little boy giggled. He was babbling excitedly, delighted at always at the presence of his uncle. "Lift Gords up. Simple."

Virgil shook his head.

"You do it if you think it's such a good idea!" he said. "How do I know he won't pull some kind of trick and _I'll_ end up on top of the tree?"

Gordon grasped the glittery star and waved it at Virgil.

"Look, if you don't lift me up within the next ten seconds, you're going to end up _in_ the tree. That's a promise. Now lift me!"

Muttering under his breath about things being unfair and feeling taken advantage of, Virgil hefted his brother onto his shoulders.

"Whee! Lookit, Dad. I'm flying!"

"Gordon!" Virgil growled. "Just put the damn star on the damn tree."

"Language," Scott warned. "There are children present."

He placed his hands over Adam's ears; the child giggled.

"You're not helping, Scott," Virgil said as he shimmied over to the tree. Gordon may not have been big, but he wasn't light. "Can we get this over with?"

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Gordon asked.

"Seriously! Get. On. With. It."

"Good gravy," Gordon said. "You really are the Grinch."

Virgil looked up to see his brother reach out and place the star at the top of the tree.

"There. Beautiful," Gordon said. "Oh, and the tree's pretty, too."

Virgil knelt down to allow his brother to clamber off. Gordon looked at him with innocent eyes.

"See? I didn't do anything bad."

"Yeah," Virgil said, rolling his shoulders, "except destroy my back muscles. Lay off the mince pies, would you?"

Gordon pulled up his shirt to reveal his washboard abs.

"You're just jealous of all this," he said.

"Yeah, well –"

Just then, the comm. sounded.

"Simmer down, boys," Jeff said as he crossed to his desk. He opened the channel. "Tracy Island here. Go ahead."

Tin-Tin's voice rang out. Adam looked around at the sound of his mother's voice.

"Mr Tracy, we're on final approach to the island with our visitors. Permission to land?"

Jeff smiled.

"Permission granted," he said. "There are two young men who are looking forward to seeing you."

Tin-Tin chuckled.

"Don't tell Alan that," she joked. "He'll be awfully jealous."

Chuckling, Jeff shook his head.

"See you soon, Tin-Tin," he said.

He ended the transmission and looked around the room. Virgil watched as his keen eyes evaluated every last detail of their work. Eventually, he nodded his approval.

"Great work, boys," he said. "I think Christmas has officially begun."

Virgil flopped down onto the couch as Scott settled himself on the floor beside Adam. Looking from his nephew to his niece, it was difficult to tell they were related at all. Adam favoured his maternal grandfather's complexion, with tawny skin and pitch-black hair. His eyes were his mother's, a hazel flecked with gold. Lyra, on the other hand, was identical to pictures he had unearthed of John as a baby. Milk-bottle pale, with a smattering of blond – almost translucent – hair on her head.

The two kids were built differently, too. Since birth, Adam had been burly and big, whereas Lyra was lean and long. Virgil reached out to stroke Lyra's pink cheek.

"Little cutie," he said.

"Why, thank you," Gordon quipped.

"Not you, you baboon," Virgil said.

Alan appeared at the back of the couch. Virgil huffed out a breath.

"Another monkey," he said.

Alan held up his hands.

"What did I do?" he asked.

Virgil waved him off. As he did, his ears pricked. He could hear voices coming towards the lounge.

"I think we have company," he said.

Sure enough, the little band of travellers appeared in the lounge. Virgil and the others stood to greet their guests; Alan picked up Adam and went to give Tin-Tin a peck on the cheek. Virgil scanned the crowd. _That must be Amelia_ , he thought, smiling at the young teen. _And that must be Georgie…_

She was an older woman – hardly old, somewhere in her mid-thirties – had poker-straight hair, dark as ebony and cut into a sharp bob at her jawline. She wasn't a thin woman, but rather was curvaceous. She had prominent cheekbones and a strong chin, and bright grey eyes that rounded as she smiled.

"…and this is another of my sons, Virgil."

Suddenly realising he was being introduced, Virgil stuck out his hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

"And you too," Georgie replied. "Whew, somebody get me a fan. I'm boiled alive! How do you lot survive here?"

Virgil shrugged.

"You get used to it," he said.

"Oh my goodness! She's gorgeous!"

Virgil stepped back as Amelia squeezed past him, heading straight for her half-sister.

"Hey there, Lyra," she cooed. "I'm your big sister."

She reached out to grab the little girl's hand and started to babble. Virgil caught John's eye and smiled. Then, in unison, they both turned as their grandmother's voice sounded across the room.

"Welcome, welcome!" she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "There are a few snacks for you weary travellers downstairs. Come, come!"

"How many people are here? A hundred?" Georgie asked.

Virgil shrugged again.

"We're a big family," he said. "It's another thing you get used to."

The group were herded downstairs towards the mountain of food that Grandma Tracy had prepared. It was as if she really did think there were a hundred people on the island.

"Lucky you're here," Virgil said, nodding at Gordon. "At least we know all this food won't go to waste – though it might do to your waist."

Gordon already had a cookie in his mouth.

"Again with the fat jokes," he said, spraying crumbs. "I'm the one who's out every morning burning calories in the pool while everyone else is still asleep in their pits."

"You have your own pool?" Amelia asked, mouth agape. "That is so cool."

"Yeah," John said, placing his free hand on her shoulder. The other arm was holding Lyra. "You can use it whenever you like. You're here for a vacation, so whatever you want, you get."

"Pinch me. I must be dreaming!" she said.

Georgie leaned over and pinched her cheek. Amelia scowled.

"Hey!"

"Just checking," Georgie said.

Virgil leaned in to snatch a sandwich and stepped back, surveying the scene before him. There was his father, doting over his grandchildren. All of his brothers were there, Alan and John clutching their respective progeny. Then there was his grandmother, Tin-Tin, Kyrano, and even Brains had emerged from his lab for sustenance. Then there were their two guests. He counted. _That makes fourteen people in this room._ _All we need is the twins to appear and we'll all be assembled – and then Penelope and Parker are coming later!_

"Do I smell food?"

As if they had been summoned by Virgil's thoughts, the Lynch brothers appeared at the kitchen door. Grandma Tracy waved them in.

"Grab what you can, boys," she said. "I don't think this will last long!"

Virgil took a bite of his sandwich, savouring the flavour of his grandmother's slow cooked ham. _Life is good,_ he thought. _Life is good._


	31. Christmas Eve

There were chains on his wrists, on his ankles, around his neck... She was clawing at his face, tearing at his clothes. She was smiling, showing her teeth...

 _No!_

This time when John awoke from his nightmare, he still leapt onto his feet but he didn't flee. His breathing was laboured but he tried his best to control his gasps. _Breathe in, breathe out... It was just a dream. It wasn't real._

Forcing himself to sit back down, he clutched the edge of the bed and pushed the bad memories away. _Just a dream. It was just a dream._

He rubbed at his wrists, feeling an echo of the bindings that had held him in place. Some of the cuts hadn't healed well and he had been left with scars. Thankfully, the red lines were fading, though not as fast as John would have liked. Conscious of them, he didn't like to wear short sleeved shirts any more. _I know it's stupid but I can't help it_ , he thought. _What was it my therapist said? The only one judging me is me._

Nightmares hadn't been a problem until lately. He wondered if it was the anticipation of Amelia's visit. Much as he cared for the girl, her presence was a stark reminder of the dark times. John sighed. Whatever the reason, it was hardly the best way to begin Christmas Eve. _Dad's first Christmas as a grandfather. My first Christmas as a dad._

John glanced around the empty room, his eyes coming to rest where Lyra's crib had been for such a brief time. _I need to start looking after her overnight,_ he thought. _I can't expect Dad to do it forever. And... I think I'm nearly ready. Or at least will be once the nightmares stop._

Sliding back under the covers, John set his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. Just as he had when he had first gone to bed that night, he found himself yearning for company. His arms felt empty. Perhaps, one day, they wouldn't be.

 **~oOo~**

"Geronimo!"

"Gordon, _no_ -"

Too late. John threw himself in front of his baby, shielding her from the the tsunami that escaped from the pool as his brother leapt in. Nothing could soak you more than a Gordon Tracy cannonball.

The sound of Amelia's laughter, loud and healthy, was the only reason John tolerated his brother's antics. Lyra was unaware of the danger; instead she simply looked adorable. She lounged under an umbrella in a purple sun suit, topped off with star-shaped sunglasses and a straw hat.

"Gordon, dear," Lady Penelope called out, looking over the top of her tablet. "Please don't do that again. Parker can't take another soaking."

"Quite right, Milady."

Mirroring John, Parker had leapt in front of Penelope to protect her from the splash. He was thoroughly drenched.

"Sorry, Parker!" Gordon called, though since he immediately launched into a splash fight with Amelia and Virgil, his apology was somewhat vetoed.

John settled himself back onto the sun lounger. Scott appeared with drinks and sat down on the chair beside him.

"You look tired," he said, holding out a glass of iced tea.

"I am," John said.

"Another nightmare?"

John nodded and sipped his drink.

"Yeah. I'm coping better with them, though," he said. "I'm not as panicked."

"Good," Scott said. "If you want to grab a mid-morning nap, I'm happy to watch Little Miss, here."

John lifted his sunglasses and gave his brother a pointed stare.

"Scott, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were broody."

"Maybe I am," Scott replied with a chuckle. "But I'll stick with nieces and nephews for now. I can give them back at the end of the day!"

John let his sunglasses drop and made himself comfortable in the lounger again. The sounds of merriment mingled with insect song and the next thing John knew, he was awoken by his brother's voice.

"Johnny... Earth to Johnny..." It was Gordon.

John cracked open one eye.

"Yes?" he asked.

"If you don't come in now, you're going to be crispier than Saturday morning bacon."

Rubbing his face, John sat up. His skin felt tight. He looked across to see that Lyra was gone, no doubt spirited away by one uncle or another.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Nearly noon," Gordon replied. His skin was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat and he had a towel wrapped around his waist. "You've been out for a while."

"I needed it," John said, stretching as he stood up.

"Bad dreams again?" Gordon asked.

John nodded in reply.

"C'mon," Gordon said. "I promised Amelia I would teach her how to play pool."

"She seems to be enjoying herself," John said as he collected his belongings before starting the walk back to the villa.

"Definitely," Gordon said.

"She's so different from the hollow shell I knew before," John said. "It's like she's finally had the chance to flourish."

"All thanks to you, bro," Gordon said.

John shook his head.

"No. A lot of it came down to her own bravery," he said. "She made the decision to come with me. That can't have been easy."

"True, true," Gordon said, pausing outside his bedroom door. "Well, I'll meet you in the games room in about fifteen, alright?"

"See you then," John said. "Prepare for a butt-whupping."

"Oh, is that so?" Gordon said. "It's on now, boy!"

 **~oOo~**

Sipping her post-dinner martini, Georgie closed her eyes. Virgil smiled as she exhaled in delight.

"Now _that's_ what I call a martini," she said.

"Glad you like it," Virgil said, refraining from the obligatory clichéd James Bond joke.

Family and friends had gathered in the lounge and, with sixteen bodies in the room, space was at a premium. Every seat was filled. The air vibrated with merriment and there was a contentment in the air Virgil hadn't felt since the old days of Kansas Christmases on his grandfather's farm.

John and Elijah were wedged into one armchair just across from them, while Gordon and Matthew were on the floor with the babies. Virgil couldn't help but smile when he saw his blond brother look so contented, almost sitting in the lap of the other man. _He deserves happiness_ , Virgil thought.

"So," Georgie said, her voice pulling him out of his revue. "Tell me about Virgil Tracy. I hear you're an artist."

"I dabble," Virgil said.

Gordon snorted and rolled his eyes.

"He doesn't just dabble," he said. "Virgil here is a master of his craft. Plays the piano, too."

Georgie raised an eyebrow and sipped her drink again.

"So that's why piano is there," she said. "I had wondered if it was just an expensive decoration."

"No, no," Virgil said. "I've played since I was a kid." Sitting up straight, he returned her one-raised-eyebrow stare. "So tell me something about you," he said. "I don't even know your last name."

"Well," Georgie said, setting her glass on the coffee table, "my real name is Georgina. My surname is Jones. I'm five foot four, and architect, I eat and drink too much, I never exercise, and just recently I've become a foster carer for my cousin. That's about it."

From the corner of his eyes, Virgil say Matthew stiffen at the words 'foster carer.' Elijah's attention was caught, too.

"It's pretty tough," Georgie continued. "I don't know anything about teenagers. Haven't the slightest clue how to deal with them. I never really wanted children." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, taking her in. Not for me, but for her. I worry that I'll get everything wrong and hurt her."

Before Virgil could reply, Matthew piped up.

"As aficionados of the foster system," he said, gesturing between himself and his brother, "I reckon you've already done the right thing." His face darkened. "Elijah and I bounced around the system for years because no one from our family would take us in. Then none of our foster carers stuck by us when we went through hard times." He stole a quick glance at Elijah, who ducked his head. "You end up feeling abandoned over and over again... Which makes you act out more. Which makes the carers less likely to stick with you..." He sighed. "It's a vicious circle. So if you do nothing else but provide a stable roof over that wee girl's head, you're doing all right."

"Hmm," Georgie said. "I never really thought of it that way." She picked up her martini again and raised it in a toast. "To survival."

"Survival," the group chorused.

Then Georgie threw back the rest of her drink.

"C'mon, Virgil," she said, grasping his hand. "Play me a song - I'll do the singing."

Virgil found himself being pulled out of his seat and couldn't help but grin as he was led to the piano.

"Uh oh," Scott said. "No singing!"

Georgie waved him off.

"You won't say that in a minute. Hit it, piano man."

Virgil settled his hands on the piano keys.

"What exactly do you want me to hit?" he asked.

Georgie thought for a moment before clicking her fingers.

"Hit me up with a few bars of 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.'"

Virgil acquiesced and he didn't regret it. Within a few notes, Georgie had the attention of everyone in the lounge. Her voice was clear and deep; Virgil couldn't help but join in with a harmony. _Beautiful_ , he thought. _Just beautiful._

 **~oOo~**

"I wasn't expecting that," John said as Georgie began to sing.

Amelia made her way over to take her cousin's empty seat and grinned.

"She's amazing, right?" she said. "I wish I was as confident as she is."

"You will be," John said. "I can guarantee that."

Shifting on the chair, he found his arm around Elijah's shoulder. He didn't move it. Elijah didn't shrug him off.

When the song ended, Georgie and Virgil received a raucous round of applause - though it was rudely interrupted by a sound that made Amelia jump.

It was the emergency signal.

"Uh oh," Gordon said, rising from the floor.

John rose and lifted Lyra.

"What's going on?" Amelia asked.

"Someone's in trouble," John replied.

The eyes of Alan's portrait were flashing as normal, but when Jeff opened the channel, it didn't flick to a live feed of Thunderbird Five. Instead, the lounge was filled with the noise and static of an emergency call. Still technically on satellite duty, Alan stepped in to answer.

" _International Rescue, please help!_ "

"This is international Rescue receiving you. Go ahead," he said.

" _There's been a terrible accident. There was an explosion. The whole place is on fire! We're trapped!_ "

"Try to stay calm," Alan said, his brows drawing together. "Where are you?"

" _At the Nzema Solar Park in Ghana. One of the collectors went haywire and exploded, and now we can't get out!_ "

"Okay," Alan said. "Try to remain calm. We are on the way. Stay in contact and I'll keep you informed."

At a nod from his father, Alan muted the feed.

"Scott, take Thunderbird One," Jeff said. "Get out there are fast as you can."

"F.A.B.," Scott replied, already heading for the hangar entrance.

Mouths agape at the swiftness of the action, Georgie and Amelia shook their heads.

"Wow," Amelia breathed.

"Ditto," Georgie said.

"Virgil," Jeff continued. "Take pod three with the Firefly. Matthew, we could use your expertise here."

"Yessir," Matthew said.

"Gordon, you'll go too," Jeff said. "Christmas Eve or not, Thunderbirds are still go!"


	32. Christmas Day

"Whoa..."

Never before had Gordon seen a fire so huge. Flames had spread across a clear square acre and were leaping towards the morning sun. They had, for all intents and purposes, gone back in time - for Ghana was twelve hours behind Tracy Island. _It's Christmas Eve morning again_ , Gordon thought. _Weird._

"Okay, guys," Virgil said as he circled around to find a landing spot. "Scott has pinpointed the location of the trapped workers. They're in a collapsed building near the centre of the fire. Matthew, you'll take the Firefly in. Gordon, you'll man the dicetyline cannons on Two once I lift off again."

"F.A.B.," Matthew said.

He disappeared, heading for the pod.

Within minutes, Virgil had set down and the Firefly was trundling down the ramp.

" _This is some blaze_ ," Matthew's voice came over the comm.

"The Firefly can take it," Virgil said. "Her Cahelium shield will hold out. You'll need to clear a path through the debris and flames so you can get the victims out. Scott will direct you from above. I'll take off again so Gordon can give you air support."

" _Understood_."

As soon as the Firefly had cleared the pod, Virgil retracted it and lifted off again. Gordon looked out the cockpit window as Matthew disappeared into the flames. _Good luck,_ he thought.

 **~oOo~**

As the evening wore on, the crowd in the lounge began to dissipate. Penelope and Parker retired to the Round House first, soon followed by Amelia and Georgie. Tin-Tin took the children, and eventually it was just Jeff, John, Alan and Elijah who remained.

It was strange to see Alan manning the comms. from his father's desk, but Brains' new system seemed to be working well. _I don't fully trust it, though,_ John said. _It takes too much human intuition out of the job. The system won't pick up_ everything. Jeff seemed a little out of place, not quite sure where to sit or stand now that he was evicted from his usual seat.

John and Elijah busied themselves at the chess table, though it as clear that Elijah's mind was far from the game.

"He'll be fine," John said.

Elijah nodded, though the muscles of his jaw still clenched.

"I know. It's his speciality, too, but..." he replied.

"But you can't help but worry," John finished.

Elijah nodded.

"I know exactly how it feels," John said with a sigh. "I've spent hours up above wondering if all my brothers are going to get home safe," John said. He gave Elijah what he hoped was a comforting smile. "It does get easier - at least a little."

Absent-mindedly moving one of his pieces into a dangerous position, Elijah nodded again.

"I know. It's not as bad now as it was a few months ago. But I always worry about him." He let out a rueful laugh. "Sometimes I even worry when he has to use a dinner knife."

At that moment, Matthew's voice rang out across the lounge.

" _Okay, I'm nearly in,_ " he said. " _Gordon, could you focus on my location and try to douse those flames from above? I'm just about to deploy the nitro-glycerine capsules and -_ "

John jammed his fingers to his ears as a deafening boom resounded over the comm.

"Firefly," Alan said, his every muscle tensing. "Come in please."

Static. Elijah leapt to his feet; John was hot on his heels.

"Thunderbird Two, what's happening down there?" Alan asked.

" _I'm not sure_ ," Virgil responded. " _There was some kind of explosion._ _There's too much smoke to get a clear view, but Firefly is not responding. I'm going to overfly the area so Gordon can douse the flames_."

"Keep us informed, Thunderbird Two," Jeff said.

"Matthew," Elijah said, his voice tight. "Matthew, answer me!"

Nothing.

 **~oOo~**

Gordon scored another direct hit on one of the blazes. The flames dampened, the smoke began to change to steam and dust. Gradually, the air cleared enough to see the damage. Gordon drew in a sharp breath.

"Virg, you seeing this?" he asked.

" _Unless my eyes are deceiving me, that's the Firefly on its side_."

"They're not," Gordon said. "It is."

Sure enough, the vehicle was stricken, blown off its tracks and now lying prone on the scorched earth. Despite efforts to douse the fire, the blaze was still raging around the small area they had managed to clear. _The heat down there must be terrific,_ Gordon thought.

" _We need a plan B_." Scott's voice was terse as he spoke. " _Those people are still trapped down there_."

" _If we can get those people out, and if they can all squeeze into the Firefly, I can lift them out with the electromagnetic grabs._ " Virgil said.

"Yeah," Gordon said, "but how do we get them safely out of the rubble and into the Firefly?"

Before anyone could answer, a low groan sounded on the comm.

"Matthew, is that you?" Gordon asked.

" _Aye, it is..._ " Matthew responded. " _I was knocked out there and I think my arm is broken. But I'm fine_."

Gordon felt relief wash over him. _That's an International Rescue definition of 'fine' if ever I heard one_.

" _Matthew, we still need to get those people out_ ," Scott said. " _As I'm sure you've noticed, Firefly is on her side. Virgil can lift you out but you need to get everyone into the vehicle first. Can you do that?_ "

Matthew groaned again but followed it with a chuckle.

" _No problemo_ ," he said.

" _Good man_ ," Scott replied. " _Virg, get ready with those grabs. Gordon, keep your eye on those flames and intervene where necessary_."

There was a chorus of acknowledgement and Gordon watched as Matthew forced open the Firefly's hatch. When he stumbled out, his right arm was hanging awkwardly, his elbow pointing in the wrong direction. _Ouch._

Already, a figure was emerging from the rubble of the ruined control building. _At least they don't need to be dug out,_ Gordon thought. In total, three men emerged. Matthew ushered them through the heat and smoke to the Firefly. _It'll be a tight fit but they should manage it_.

" _Okay, Thunderbird Two_ ," Matthew said. " _We're all here and getting to know each other very well. This man, for example, has a lovely and sharp elbow. Let's go!_ "

" _F.A.B_."

Gordon heard the wish and clunk as the grabs were deployed and after a few moments, they had locked on and a Firefly was in the air, dangling on her side but being lifted clear of the danger.

" _Great work, guys_ ," Scott said. " _Local emergency and relief crews are on scene to start dealing with the rest of the fire. Once we've delivered the rescued personnel, we are good to go._ "

" _Could you tell my brother that I'll be needing his assistance when we get back?_ " Matthew asked.

Elijah's voice sounded over the comm.

" _I heard you_ ," he said. " _We'll be having words later_."

" _On second thought_ ," Matthew said, " _just dump me in the ocean on the way home. That'll be easier!_ "

 **~oOo~**

Christmas morning dawned on Tracy Island just as the Thunderbird craft were returning to base. A bleary eyed Elijah was waiting with his medical bag and a wheelchair on stand-by. Only he and John remained. Even Jeff had retired at the news the team were on the way home, something he would rarely have done before. _Age is wearing in him_ , John thought. _That and all the responsibility_.

By the time the crew appeared in the lounge, Matthew was ashen-faced and being held up by Gordon. John winced; he looked dreadful. Elijah rushed forward with the chair and Gordon lowered he stricken man into it.

"He's been trying to go to sleep," Gordon admonished, though his tone was light. "And he's made a damn mess of Two's medical bay because he didn't tell Uncle Gordon he was going to barf! Isn't that right?"

Matthew groaned in response.

"Wouldn't be like him," Elijah said. Then his tone softened. "Let's get you taken care of."

Gordon hung back as the twins headed for the sick room. John went to follow them but stopped when he saw his brother lingering behind.

"I'm going to go help Virg clean up," Gordon said. His face twisted with disgust. "It's gross."

"I'm sure," John replied.

"He did good, though," Gordon said. "A real pro."

There was something in his brother's eyes that made John look a little more closely.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you had a bit of a crush."

Gordon shrugged his shoulders.

"It's bromance, brother dear," he said as he headed back to Thunderbird a Two. Then he stopped and turned back. "Hey, John," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Gords," John replied.

Gordon held up his arms.

"I'd hug you but I think Matt threw up on me." He checked. "Yup."

John laughed, grimacing a little as he did. Gordon gave him a salute before he disappeared.

Despite his exhaustion, John made his way down to the sick room to offer Elijah a hand. When he arrived, the man was helping his twin onto one of the beds.

"Matthew," he said. "How are you feeling?"

It took the man several seconds to respond.

"Lousy," he said.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Again, there was a pause.

"I remember an explosion... I must have hit my head. But I... The next thing I remember is being on Two." His eyes widened and he tried to stand. "Are those people okay? Did we get them out?"

John came to his side and laid a hand on his good arm.

"Yes, Matthew," he said. "The mission was a success. No fatalities."

The man nodded but then winced.

"Ouch," he said. "What's wrong -" he winced again, "- with my arm?"

Elijah was surveying the damage and shook his head.

"I don't need an x-ray to tell that it's broken," he said. "I'm worried about how much damage there is. I want to scan the arm to see what we're dealing with. If it's simple, I can deal with it here. But if not, it might be a Christmas Day trip to the hospital."

Matthew gave his brother a wobbly smile.

"Merry Christmas," he said.

Elijah shook his head and, despite the weight of worry, leaned in to plant a brief kiss on his twin's forehead.

"Eejit," he breathed. "Merry Christmas."

 **~oOo~**

Within the hour, Elijah had tucked his brother into one of the sick room beds and flopped down onto the other. Exhaustion seeped from his every pore and John sat beside him. Straight away, Elijah leaned into him.

"He'll be fine," John said.

"I know," Elijah replied. "He's a pain in the arse, but a resilient one."

John chuckled.

"He sounds like Gordon."

Wrapping his arm around John's waist, Elijah sighed. "I'm glad he's okay."

"Well, the job is finally done," John said. "It's time to get some rest."

"Mmm..." The other man mumbled into John's shoulder. "Sounds good."

John placed an arm over Elijah's and gave him a squeeze.

"Merry Christmas, Eli," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Johnny."


	33. Celebration

Soon enough, December 2069 slid into January 2070. Then came February, a month with two significant events on the same day: Valentine's Day and, most important of all, Gordon's birthday. _Last year we didn't celebrate_ , he thought. _This year? Big party_! And so, plans were made.

It wasn't to be any ordinary celebration. No streamers or depressing store-bought balloons would be in sight. Instead, Gordon decreed that it would be a grand masquerade ball - or as close to a ball as you could get in the villa's lounge.

"Really, Gords?" Alan had complained over the comm. "I get to come home for the day and I'll have to wear a mask all night?"

He walked into that one. Gordon's shark-like teeth were bared.

"It'll save the rest of us from having to look at that delightful face of yours," he joked. When his brother's expression crumpled like singed paper, Gordon relented. "Ah, relax," he said. "I'm just kidding. It'll be fun, you'll see."

A few days before the party, though, Gordon was on the brink of cancelling the whole thing. It didn't seem fair to celebrate, somehow, given the news.

On the 12th, just before breakfast, John received another early morning call from England. It was Mackenzie from the Victim Support Unit again. The look on his brother's eyes when he reappeared at the breakfast table told Gordon everything.

All of the Tracy men, bar Alan on Five, were there. All eyes were on John. The blond seemed to be shrinking in his chair, closing in on himself. _Oh, no. Not happening!_ Gordon thought. _You've worked too hard!_ He shuffled his chair a little closer, hoping that proximity would buoy John up again.

"Has the trial date been set?" Scott asked.

John nodded and swallowed.

"Yes," he said, his voice small. "March tenth."

"They will convict her," Virgil said. "They _have_ to."

John nodded, though it was clear he was disappearing inside his own head. Before Gordon could do anything to intervene, however, a force of nature stepped in.

"John Eugene Tracy, stand up please."

Gordon turned to see their grandmother standing with her hands on her hips, apron impeccable and a large mixing spoon still in one hand.

John blinked heavily, his face screwed with confusion.

"What?"

"I said, stand up, please."

Without further question, John did as he was told. In spite of the circumstances, Gordon allowed himself a small grin. Obeying the matriarch of the family was hardwired into them, even as the adults they were.

"Now, young man," Grandma Tracy said. "Repeat after me."

"Mother, I don't think -"

Jeff's protests were cut off by a curt ' _hush_.' Even he obeyed.

"As I said, repeat after me."

John cracked the smallest of smiles, even though his face was coloured with embarrassment. He cast Gordon a look that was half-apologetic and half-pleading. _Help!_

"Okay, Grandma," he said.

John did as he was told; by the end, Gordon was almost on the verge of tears.

"I, John Eugene Tracy, am a survivor. I have come through the hard times and I am better for it. Whatever the outcome of the trial, that will not change."

When his brothers and father burst into a round of applause and cheers, John's face burned bright red. However, he stepped out from behind the table to pull his grandmother into a tight squeeze.

"I love you, Grandma," he said. "Thank you."

"No problem, child," she said, pounding him on the back with more strength than one would expect from an eighty-something year old woman and smacking his behind with the spoon. "We're all here for you. We'll all be by your side for the trial - whether in person or in spirit. And I'll be there in person, no doubt about that!" She released him from the embrace and surreptitiously wiped her eyes. "Now, who wants pancakes?"

 **~oOo~**

On the morning of the fourteenth of February, Gordon was awoken by a sound that made him want to shove an entire pillow into each of his ears. His brothers were _singing_.

" _Happy Birthday to you_!"

He buried his face in his hands.

"Oh god."

" _Happy Birthday to you_!"

He peeked out from between his fingers.

"How did you even get in here?"

By this stage, his three older siblings had piled onto the bed and all attempts to drown them out were in vain.

" _Happy Birthday, dear Squid-Boy._ "

"Now that's just rude."

" _Happy Birthday to you!_ "

Gordon tried to bury himself under the covers but they were swiftly ripped away.

"It's a good thing I don't sleep naked!" he said as he sat up. "You guys really are something."

Scott pulled him in for a noogie and he squirmed. John and Virgil were of no help and simply sat back, laughing.

"Gah! I hate that!"

"I know," Scott replied.

Extricating himself from his brother's grasp, Gordon stood and stretched.

"I hope you're all set for tonight," he said. "All masks present and correct?"

"They are," Virgil said, "though I still can't understand why you'd choose a masquerade party. I thought you were more of a superhero fancy dress kind of guy."

Gordon shrugged and headed for his en suite.

"At the grand old age of twenty-four, I thought it was time for something more," he paused to strike pose, draping himself against the doorjamb, " _sophisticated_." He straightened and jerked his thumb towards the door. "Now get outta here. I'll see you at breakfast."

 **~oOo~**

Furious preparations had been taking place all day to set up for the soirée. Tin-Tin had spirited Gordon away for some scuba diving - choosing not to go for the water mamba story this time, though - while Scott took off in Three to collect Alan.

John found himself dragooned into helping with the decorating - under the dictatorship of a very pernickety Virgil. The artistic Tracy had chosen a 1920s Art Deco theme, all geometric patterns and contrasts of colour.

"No, no, no," he said as John tried to attach a transfer of an angular starburst to the wall. "That's the wrong way around."

"What do I know about decorating?" John protested. "Why don't these things come with instructions?"

Virgil stepped down from the ladder he had been using to help attach elaborate garlands to the wall.

"Because," he said, snatching up the transfer and righting it, "it's assumed that the person applying it has more than two brain cells."

John stepped back, hands held up in defeat. Virgil's meticulous attention to detail was not something he wanted to argue against. He allowed himself a moment to examine their work so far, nodding in approval.

The lounge looked truly spectacular.

"I feel like I've just stepped into _The Great Gatsby_ ," he said.

Virgil, who had mounted the transfer on the wall _correctly_ , planted his hands on his hips and nodded.

"Good. That's the idea. Once we're all dressed, it'll look perfect."

"It'll be weird to break out the tuxedo again," John said. "Does Gords know about this theme?"

"I don't think he'll be expecting it to be so elaborate," Virgil said. "But he deserves it. Last year, we didn't celebrate because... Well, you know why."

John nodded and huffed out a short breath.

"Yeah."

"We were all worried about you," Virgil said, "but I think Gordon found it hardest to cope."

John nodded. That sounded about right. Despite the veneer of the joker, underneath Gordon was a very sensitive and empathetic soul.

"Well, I hope he enjoys tonight," he said, then shook off the bad memories that were threatening to ruin his mood like a heavy rain. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a shirt to iron."

 **~oOo~**

After a day of scuba diving, Gordon was ready for a night of revelry. He scrubbed himself pink in the shower before sliding into his tux. _I wonder why we're wearing tuxedos_ , he thought as he adjusted his bow tie. He shrugged on his dinner jacket and surveyed himself in the mirror. _Awesome._

Then he turned to his dresser and lifted his mask.

It was an elaborate thing, a black and gold splash over his eyes, edged with intricate swirling. What made it most unique, though, was the allusion to a jester's hat. Three points rose from the top of the mask, complete with jingling bells. _Fun yet elegant - just like me!_

Mask on, he sighed. Even though he was ready, he was not permitted leave just yet. He was under strict instructions not to step one toe over the threshold of his door until he was called upon. _It's all very exciting_... _yet frustrating!_

He didn't have to wait long, though. Soon enough, there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, he was blown away by what he saw.

Tin-Tin was standing there, resplendent in a long dress that sparkled in the light. It was blue and green, like a peacock, which was the inspiration for her mask - a shimmering turquoise base with a plume of peacock feathers erupting from the right hand side.

"Wow," Gordon breathed. "You look amazing!"

Tin-Tin gave a little curtsey and grinned.

"Not bad for the mother of an eight month old baby," she said. Then she held out her hand. "I've come to escort you to your party."

Gordon took her hand but instead of simply holding it, he swept down in a bow and then kissed the backs of her fingers.

"I'm honoured," he said.

Tin-Tin looped her arm through his and smiled.

"Let's go."

It didn't take long to reach the lounge. Before they entered, Tin-Tin stopped him.

"Close your eyes," she said.

Gordon did as he was told, feeling a little unsteady - what was going to happen next? He allowed himself to be guided forward. He could hear the ironic rustling and shushing of people trying not to make noise. Then Tin-Tin squeezed his arm.

"Open," she said.

He did. Once again, he was blown away.

" _Surprise_!"

"Oh my _god_!"

The lounge had been decked out in such elaborate detail that Gordon could barely believe it was the same room. He felt as though he had stepped back in time by more than a century. Everything was covered in geometric patterns, contrasting colours, or edged in gold or silver. He looked at the crowd that had gathered - all his brothers, his father, his grandmother, and his friends, bedecked in masks of all colours and sizes - and felt a lump in his throat.

Virgil stepped forward in a mask that was inspired by the helmet of a Roman centurion. He pressed a glass of champagne into Gordon's hand.

"Happy Birthday, little brother," he said.

For the first time in a long time, Gordon wasn't sure what to say.

"Thanks everyone," he managed. "This is...amazing." He took a swig of his champagne and grinned. "Let's get this party started!"

And so they did.

 **~oOo~**

The festivities went in late into the night, though not everyone stayed. Feeling brave, John had decided to take Lyra overnight - which made sense, since he had not indulged in any alcohol. Within a few hours, it was time for bath and bed.

"Now, my little miss," John said as he wrapped her in a thick towel, "it's time for sleep."

He hummed as he dried the child off and slipped her into a sleep suit and a baby sleeping bag. Not wanting to set her down right away, he sat on the armchair by the French windows, simply enjoying the feeling of his daughter in his arms. Without realising what he was doing, he started to sing.

 _Lullaby, little one, sleepily gazing_

 _Out where a star glitters, bright and amazing!_

 _Little one, sleepy one, come now and wander_

 _Far in the star-country, glimmering yonder!_

 _Here comes a star for you! Here is another!_

 _Watch while I point to them! Count them with mother!_

 _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of them showing_

 _How many stars are there, sparkling and glowing?_

 _Here is a white one, a red one, a blue one,_

 _This one is golden, and there is a new one!_

 _Now they are everywhere, stars beyond number;_

 _Lullaby, little one, quietly slumber._

It was a song his mother had sung a thousand, a hundred thousand times, in order to lull her babies to sleep. And it seemed to do the trick, for when he had finished Lyra was out cold.

With the greatest of care, John extricated himself from the chair and walked to the bassinet. He placed her into it and she wriggled a little, but soon settled. Feeling prouder than he ever had before, even when his first book was published, John dusted off his hands – quietly, of course.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Freezing in place, eyes on the baby, he waited for her to wake. But she didn't. Heaving a sigh of relief, he tip-toed to the door and opened it slowly.

"Ssh. Sleeping baby," he whispered before he could even see who was there.

"Oh, okay," a voice whispered back. "Do you want me to go?"

When he saw who it was, John shook his head. _No, I really don't._

"Hey, Eli," he said. "You're welcome to come in as long as you're quiet."

Elijah pretended to snap his fingers.

"Darn, and there I was wanting to bring in a giant sheet of bubble wrap and a few whoopee cushions."

John waved him inside and shut the door. He felt phenomenally underdressed in comparison to the other man. Elijah was still in his suit, though his tie and top button were undone. He hadn't been drinking either; like a few of the others, he was on stand-by for any emergency calls.

John motioned for him to follow and the two men slid out onto the balcony. He kept the door ajar so he could hear any signs of distress.

"Did you have fun tonight?" he asked.

Elijah slipped his tie off his neck and wrung it between his fingers.

"Yeah," he said. "I hadn't been to a party like that in years – literally years, you understand. There wasn't much cause for elaborate celebration in the C.A.R." He shrugged. "Did you have fun?"

John folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the balcony rail.

"Yeah, I did," he said. "It was good to see Gordon enjoying himself so much. Though I think he'll pay for it tomorrow!"

"I think you're right there," Elijah said with a lopsided smile. "When I left, Matthew was drawing smiles on Gordon's kneecaps, using Tin-Tin's lipstick."

John laughed – a little too loudly – and shook his head.

"Those two are dynamite together," he said.

"Aye," Elijah said. "As we say back home, they're mustard." He joined John in leaning and mirrored his actions by folding his arms as well. "As long as they're having fun."

Their proximity to one another sent shivers down their backs and they looked at one another, shaking their heads in unison. John turned to face the other man and unfolded his arms.

"There was something I wanted to ask you earlier," he said, bowing his head slightly, "but I was too shy to ask." He gave a quiet chuckle. "It seems silly, what with me being a grown man."

Elijah turned in.

"What did you want to ask?"

John's heart started to flutter and he reached to take Elijah's hands in his own.

"Will you… Will you be my valentine?"

Elijah's face broke into a grin wider than any John had ever seen grace his face.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said.

They leaned in to one another, eyes closing, and when their lips met, it was as though the stars had aligned and a thousand hurts were healed.


	34. Pilgrimage

Pilgrimage: a journey or search of moral or spiritual significance. That was what this felt like. John zipped his bag closed and laid his hands on it for a moment. He closed his eyes. He thought.

This was it. Finally, he was going to give evidence in Grace's trial.

How long would it go on for? He didn't know, though doubtless it would seem like an eternity. The case had already been on-going for three weeks, although John – as a witness – wasn't allowed anywhere near it until required to give evidence. It seemed as if the prosecution was saving John as the _pièce de résistance_ , to come in at the end and bang the last nail in Grace's coffin. John clenched his fingers around his bag, feeling the coarse material bite into his skin. It was a job he would be glad to do.

Lady Penelope had been attending the hearing every day as the Tracys' ear on the ground through the arduous trek towards justice. After all, there were a lot of charges to consider; John had memorised every one.

 _Murder: four counts_

 _Kidnapping: three counts._

 _False imprisonment: three counts._

 _Causing sexual activity without consent: nine counts._

Nine was nowhere near the total amount. However, it was the total amount the prosecution felt they could prove. There were date-stamped digital images or testimony from Amelia.

Amelia.

John released the bag and took a step back. At least the girl wasn't being forced to give evidence. As far as he knew, her testimony had been recorded and would be played during the trial. Neither she nor Georgie would be anywhere near the court.

Shaking his head, John lifted the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He wasn't required to give evidence in person, either. He was classified as a vulnerable witness, entitled to special measures. He didn't want any. He wanted to be present in the court so the jury could see him, hear him, not through a screen or speakers, but in person – a flesh and blood human being.

There was something else, too. He wanted – _needed_ – Grace to see him. Free. Healing. Not Giving up. In a way, that was even more important than a guilty verdict. He needed her to see that he had _won_.

A verdict of guilty, though. That would be the icing on the cake. There was so much evidence, an almost insurmountable catalogue of proof. However, it was not as simple as the jury seeing it and agreeing that Grace was guilty. She had already admitted, in a sense, that she had committed the act. The problem was her plea.

Not guilty by reason of diminished responsibility.

John tightened his fingers around the strap of his bag as his face darkened. In essence, Grace was saying, " _Yes, I did it. However, I didn't know it was wrong._ "

"Yes, you did," John spat. "You knew it was wrong. You knew that everything you did was wrong. Yet you kept doing it anyway. And by Christ, I hope you rot in jail for it."

As he turned to the door, he heard a knock.

"Come on in," he said. "It's open."

When Elijah stepped in, John smiled.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

Instead of saying anything further, Elijah stepped forward and pulled John into a hug. John slipped the bag off his shoulder and wrapped his arms around the other man's waist. They remained that way for some time, simply existing in each others' arms.

When they did finally part again, Elijah had a pasted wobbly smile on his face.

"I wish I was going with you," he said.

John nodded and slid his hands down Elijah's arms, taking his hands in his own.

"I do, too," he said. "But you're needed here."

Elijah gripped John's fingers.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked.

John breathed out slowly as he considered the answer.

"Yes. And no. I don't really know. I want to do the right thing. I want to give my evidence in person. I _want_ to see her again… And yet I don't. I'm terrified. What happens if…" He swallowed hard. "What happens if I see her again and I break down? What if I can't speak or answer questions?"

Elijah shook his head and squeezed John's fingers even more.

"That won't happen," he said. "You're the strongest person I know. You will be able to do this. Show her that she's lost. Show her that the truth will out."

"Thanks, Eli," John said, leaning in for a kiss. "I can't wait until this is all over."

Elijah reached up to brush John's cheek with his thumb and nodded.

"Tell you what," he said. "Once the trial has finished, I'll fly out to meet you and we can take a mini vacation to Ireland. Your da said I could have some time off. I haven't been back to Donegal in years and it would be nice to drive you around the hills and crags where I grew up."

"That sounds great," John said. "But, do me a favour, yeah?"

Elijah nodded.

"Anything."

"If we see anyone needing help at the side of the road, don't stop the car…"

Elijah stopped for a moment, blinked a few times, and then started to laugh.

"Whatever you want, Johnny," he said. "Whatever you want."

 **~oOo~**

Comfortable or not, the journey to England was still arduous. The little group – John, Jeff and Grandma Tracy – flew in style from the island to Sydney on a Tracy Industries jet, then took the Fireflash to Heathrow, and then it was a chauffeur-driven car to Chelmsford, where the Crown Court was.

John went through periods of being hyper-alert, not able to stop talking or thinking. Then there were the periods of darkness, of self-doubt, of terror, where he couldn't even form a simple yes or no. The countryside passed by in a blur and by the time they arrived at the serviced apartment that was to be their home until the trial was over, John didn't even know what day it was.

He was unceremoniously put to bed by his grandmother – something that had not happened in two decades – and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out cold.

When he awoke again, the world was still bathed in darkness. He glanced at the digital clock; it was blinking 4.30am. _I don't think I'll get back to sleep_. _I might as well just get up_.

He showered and dressed, trying to think of anything but the case. As he passed a comb through his thick blond locks, he grinned. _I wonder how Scott is coping? Not only being in charge of International Rescue, but being in charge of a baby, too!_ With John, Jeff and Grandma off-base, the issue of who would look after Lyra was a pressing one. However, Scott had immediately volunteered.

"I can take the challenge," he had said, scooping the girl up in his arms and making all manner of silly faces at her. "She'll be my wingman."

John set the comb back on the dressing table and shook his head. _That man is absolutely smitten_ , he thought. _And why not? She is gorgeous._

Just as he was about to stand up, John caught sight of himself in the mirror. Reflected in a ring of gilded wood was the face of a man he had not seen since January 2069. He leaned in to get a closer look, even reached his fingertips out. The reflection met his touch. John nodded.

"Trauma does not define me," he said. His mirror counterpart mouthed the words as well. "My experiences help shape me but they do not control me. I am more than a collection of past events."

He traced the outline of his face on the mirror, his fingertips ghosting over the polished surface. There he was, still alive, still important. Still _loved_.

In that moment, it was all clear.

 _No matter what happens, nothing will change_ , he thought. _Even if she isn't convicted of the offenses against me, it won't change who or what I am. I have a great family. I have an amazing daughter – despite how she came into this world. And I have…_ He gave the tiniest of laughs. _I have a boyfriend who has stuck by me and supported me, even when I pushed him away_.

John stood and gave himself one last look in the mirror, before turning away.

 _I am more than a collection of past events_.

 **~oOo~**

Sleep hadn't been easily won but eventually, Jeff had managed to catch a few hours of shut-eye. He was glad for it. The next few days – or weeks, or months, who knew? – were not going to be easy for any of them. Not only would John have to give his evidence and be subjected to what, Jeff knew, would be a tough cross-examination, but they would also be entitled to sit through the defence – and no doubt, John would wish to do so. _I don't blame him_ , Jeff thought. _But it's going to be very difficult._

He rose, washed, dressed and went to the apartment's kitchenette, not expecting anyone else to be there. His mother, though she had coped like the incredible woman she was, could not be expected to be awake just yet. However, sitting at the raised bar and sipping a cup of something hot, was John.

"Have you been awake long, son?" Jeff asked as he approached.

Clearly lost in thought, John jumped at his father's voice. Jeff mouthed 'sorry' but John waved it off.

"It's fine, Dad," he said, grabbing a napkin to wipe up what he had spilled. "What time is it now?"

Jeff looked at his watch.

"It's six-thirty," he said.

"I've been awake for about two hours, then," John said.

He stood and crossed to the coffee maker, gesturing towards it. Jeff nodded, so John went about fixing his father a drink. He accepted the cup gratefully and took a small sip.

"Adequate," he joked. "I've found it hard to get a decent cup of coffee in England."

John went back to his seat at the breakfast bar and took another gulp of his own drink.

"But remember, Dad, it might have been made _in_ England, but it was made _by_ an American."

Jeff chuckled and joined his son. The bar faced a bank of sweeping windows that revealed a beautiful April dawn. Trees swayed gently in the breeze and the sky was giving way to a watercolour blue.

"Are you ready for this, son?" Jeff said at length.

John placed the cup on the counter and started to twist it around in circles.

"Yeah, Dad," he said. "I am. I know it won't be easy but I know I have to do it." He snorted. "In some ways, I think the most difficult thing will be not leaping at the bitch in the dock and wringing her neck."

Really, Jeff should have admonished him for the comment. Instead, he merely nodded.

"Agreed. The best way to get back at her now is to show no weakness."

John smiled.

"Give her the ol' Tracy stoicism, eh?"

"That's right," Jeff replied. "And remember, when you're in the dock and the defence goes for the jugular, it's nothing personal, even though it might seem that way."

John nodded and drained his cup.

"I've been well-briefed by the prosecution. Don't rise to the bait."

At that point, they heard a loud tut. Both men turned around.

"Land's sakes," Grandma Tracy said. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

Jeff and John looked at one another and then, in unison, shook their heads.

 **~oOo~**

They arrived at the court for nine and after John handed over the letter detailing his summons, he was spirited away to a waiting room while Jeff and his grandmother were directed to the public gallery. Doubtless, Penelope was already there and waiting for them.

So, John found himself alone and studying the walls and floor of the small room.

"You won't wait longer than two hours," the attendant had said.

John sat back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. _It's nearly been two hours_ , he thought. _It must be soon_.

There was a knock at the door. John stood and smoothed down the front of his suit jacket as the usher entered.

"Mr Tracy," the robed man said. "It's time."

John nodded and, palms sweating, he followed the other man the short distance to the courtroom. He hesitated for a few seconds, steeling his nerves, before finally crossing the threshold.

He walked into the wood-panelled room and his gaze immediately went to the public gallery. When he saw his grandmother's red-rimmed eyes, he knew she had already seen or heard things she likely never thought she would. _Sorry, Grandma_ , he thought. _It's not about to get any easier_. He then took in the comforting presence of his father and Lady Penelope. Parker raised one hand, giving a thumb's up, though his face was hard.

Prompted by the usher, John moved to the witness stand and there, for the first time, his gaze fell on Grace.

What did he think? How did he feel?

Many things, on both counts. _Shit, shit, shit_ , was his first thought. It was quickly followed by, _Man up! She can't hurt you now_.

The feelings were more complicated. First there was terror. Then rage. Fury, even. She looked at him with flinty eyes, her face hardened, lined with disdain and disgust. It looked as though she wanted to spit at him.

John didn't shy away from her gaze, even though his heart was pounding so hard he was sure people could see it. No, instead he kept those hard eyes locked with his own until he was forced to look at the usher and place his hand on the Bible.

"I swear by almighty God that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

He made sure when he said the last word, he was looking right at Grace. He wasn't certain, but he thought he saw her mask slip for a moment. What was underneath?

Fear.


	35. Ionadh

Jeff reached over to press a hand onto his mother's clenched fist.

"He'll do just fine, Mother," he whispered.

Unable to say anything in response, Grandma Tracy nodded. Together, along with Penny and Parker, they had watched the proceedings unfold. As they did, Jeff's eyes settled on the woman in the dock. All he could see was the back of her head but even that was enough to make his blood boil. _How dare you touch my son_? he thought. _How_ dare _you put him through this – put us all through this!_

His attention was diverted, though, when the prosecution barrister – Molloy – began to speak.

"You are John Eugene Tracy, correct?" he asked.

"Correct," John replied, his voice steady.

"Do you know Grace Stephanie Thomas?"

"Yes."

"And is she in this court today?"

"Yes."

"Could you point her out to us?"

John raised his right hand and pointed.

"Yes. She's over there, in the blue suit jacket."

The barrister followed his finger and nodded.

"For the record, Mr Tracy has pointed out the defendant, who is seated between the two detention officers in the dock." He returned his attention to John. "Is it correct, Mr Tracy, that Ms Thomas abducted you from the hard shoulder of the M11 on Sunday the 20th of January, 2069?"

"It is correct."

"Could you outline for us what happened that evening and what happened subsequently?"

Even though Jeff had heard the account before, it did not make it easier to listen to. The barrister kept asking questions, getting John to reveal more and more information. As the statement went on, Jeff found himself clenching his mother's hand ever-tighter. By the time the barrister was rounding off his questions, it seemed as though there was not a dry eye in the gallery. _How is he still standing?_ Jeff asked. _How has he survived all this?_ In that moment, he had never felt more sorry for and yet more proud of one of his sons.

"Finally, Mr Tracy," Molloy said, "could you sum up, in a few words, the impact that Ms Thomas' actions have had on you?"

Jeff saw John swallow and he seemed to shrink a little, before he sat up straight again. When he spoke, his voice was crystal clear.

"Grace Thomas' actions nearly destroyed my life," John said. "She took advantage of my kindness. She took away my liberty. She violated my body over and over again. She subjected me to sexual activity that I never wanted – not just because it was non-consensual, but because I am not a heterosexual. I am gay." He stumbled a little on those words and there was a flurry of noise in the courtroom. However, John quickly recovered and the noise died down. "Grace Thomas forced me to become something that I never want to be again."

"And what is that, Mr Tracy?"

John breathed in deeply, slowly.

"Helpless."

There was dead silence in the courtroom for a few moments. Then the barrister addressed the judge.

"The prosecution rests."

The judge, robed and wigged, nodded and the prosecuting barrister sat back down. He was replaced by the defence – a woman named Dove. _Here it comes_ , Jeff said. _The cross-examination. Stay strong, son._

"Mr Tracy," the barrister said, pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, "you say that Ms Thomas made you feel helpless, correct?"

Even from the gallery, Jeff could see that John's eyes had hardened.

"Yes," he said.

"What height are you, Mr Tracy?"

"I'm six foot one," John answered.

Jeff closed his eyes for a moment. _I can see where this is going_.

"And how much taller than Ms Thomas do you think you are?"

"I'm not sure," John said.

"An estimate, even," Dove urged.

John thought for a moment before answering.

"I'd say I'm about nine, ten inches taller than her."

"And would you say that, at the time of the alleged incidents, you were physically stronger than Ms Thomas?"

John paused.

"…most likely, yes."

"And, Mr Tracy, do you think that it would have been possible for you to overpower Ms Thomas?"

John's face drained of colour and all Jeff wanted to do was go to his side. But he couldn't. _Stay strong…_

"In theory, yes," John answered, his voice quiet.

"So, you say Ms Thomas made you feel helpless. And yet, you admit that you could have overpowered her."

"It's difficult to overpower someone physically when they're holding a gun to your head."

 _Atta boy, John_.

Dove was unconcerned.

"And did Thomas always have a gun in her hand?"

"Well, no. Not always."

"So, to use your words, 'in theory,' there would have been opportunities for you to overpower her."

John paused again, a sheen of sweat developing on his forehead.

"Yes," he was forced to say. "But physical threats were not the only means she had to control me."

"Ah, yes," the barrister said. "When asked by the prosecution how Ms Thomas managed to keep you imprisoned for so long, you claimed that she made threats against her daughter's life. You stated that Ms Thomas threatened to kill her daughter if you attempted to leave."

John's voice was stronger this time.

"Yes, she did."

"Well, Mr Tracy. I find it hard to believe that Ms Thomas who, after she was abandoned by her husband, dedicated her life to raising her daughter, would make such a threat. Is it not actually the case that there were no such threats, that that you have invented this detail to help defend yourself, to make you seem, as you stated, 'helpless'?"

One of John's temples throbbed. Jeff pressed his lips into a tight line. _Don't lose your cool_ …

"That is not the case," John ground out.

"I think it is, Mr Tracy," Dove said. "In fact, I think the circumstances inside Ms Thomas' residence are very different to what you have described."

The line of questioning continued in much the same vein for over an hour. Pride swelled within Jeff as he watched his son stand up to all that was thrown at him. _Not helpless any more_ , he thought.

Eventually, the defence started to conclude her cross-examination. However, she still had one final blow to fell.

"Mr Tracy, did Ms Thomas keep the doors and windows of the house locked at all times?"

John hesitated.

"I don't know."

"Didn't you try the doors and windows to see if they were locked?"

"If I had, and if one had been opened, I would not have been able to leave."

"Ah, yes, due to the supposed threat. Mr Tracy, did Ms Thomas keep the doors and windows of the house closed at all times?"

John hesitated again. He looked as though he was about to crumble.

"No," he said. "Sometimes she left the front door open."

"So, there were times when Ms Thomas, a woman you readily admit you could have overpowered, left the front door of the house open. The front door of the house that you say you were imprisoned in. Is that correct?"

John did not answer. After a moment, the judge spoke.

"Mr Tracy, you must answer all questions asked of you," she said, her voice impassive.

John nodded and swallowed visibly.

"Yes."

Dove nodded.

"And, 'in theory,' as you like to say, could you have walked out of this open door?"

"Yes. Eventually, I did."

John's voice was so quiet, almost distraught, that Jeff's heart leapt into his throat.

"Indeed so," the barrister said. "You left Ms Thomas bleeding on the floor, having just given birth. You took her child – her children – away from her. You didn't attempt to call for medical aid."

Looking down at her notes, Dove went for the jugular, just as Jeff had predicted.

"So, Mr Tracy, you have stated that you could have overpowered Ms Thomas and that you could have left the house before you eventually did. And yet you did not. So here is my theory. Ms Thomas may have abducted you." There was a ripple of sound through the gallery. "However, she did not know that what she was doing was wrong. Ms Thomas, at the time of the alleged incidents, was not of sound mind due to past trauma and significant medical issues. She was not in control of her actions.

"But you were in control of _your_ actions, Mr Tracy. You could have left but you did not. You claim that a woman who is nine or ten inches shorter than you, of significantly less muscle mass, a woman whose love for her daughter has been demonstrated by her provision of care as a single parent, physically and psychologically prevented you from leaving the house – a house that, at times, had a front door that was left lying wide open.

"Rather than being 'helpless,' as you have claimed," the barrister said, pausing, "I think it was more a case of you being _unable_ to help yourself, which is a very different thing. And now, in the cold light of day, you have made these claims to stop yourself from being perceived as weak. You could have left but you did not."

Giving John no further opportunity to speak, Dove turned to the judge.

"The defence rests."

The court usher appeared to lead John away from the stand and, as he did, the judge spoke.

"I think this would be an appropriate time to break for lunch," she said. "Court will reconvene in one hour's time."

This time, when John left the courtroom, it broken Jeff's heart to see that his head was no longer held high. His chin was almost on his chest.

 **~oOo~**

As soon as she saw him, John found himself enveloped in a hug from his grandmother. She didn't say anything – _She probably_ can't _say anything_ , he thought – but the warmth of her embrace conveyed her love and support.

When she finally withdrew to arm's length, John gave a soft sigh.

"Can we go find a coffee shop or something?" he asked. "I need to get out of here."

"We don't have to come back," Jeff said. "You don't have to sit through the rest of the trial."

"I know," John said. "But I want to. I need to hear the defence. I need to _know_."

Jeff nodded and clapped his son on the shoulder.

"Okay," he said. "Let's find something to eat first."

John allowed himself to be led away. As they exited the courthouse, the defence barrister's words kept swirling around in his head.

 _You could have left but you did not…_

 **~oOo~**

The trial proceeded as they thought it would. The case for the defence went on for weeks and, as April slid into May, John found himself once again curled up in an armchair in his bedroom at the apartment that had become his temporary home. He watched the rain sluice down the long windows. Everything seemed miserable. Everything seemed grey.

The defence case had seemed interminable. They had sat through hours upon hours of what could only be described as a sob-story. All the tiniest details about Grace's childhood, her parents' divorce, her husband's 'disappearance,' her mental health record, her fitness as a loving parent – John snorted – were examined. Her barrister seemed to have extricated witnesses from all manner of places that could testify that Grace was a strange creature, but harmless, really. Or indeed that, at times, she was a person who didn't seem to know what was really going on around her. Someone who couldn't tell the difference between right and wrong.

John snorted again. _She knows the difference between right and wrong,_ he thought. _She simply chooses to do wrong_.

That was the line of questioning that Molloy was trying to follow in his cross-examination.

And now it was nearly over. Tomorrow, both sides would give their closing statements and the jury would retire. John shuddered. _I hope they can see through the tissue of lies that the defence is weaving_. _And I hope it doesn't take a century for them to come to a decision._

His ears pricked as he heard something unusual. It sounded like the apartment door opening and shutting again. _Who could that be?_ he asked. _We're all meant to be in for the night_. He glanced at his watch. It was ten p.m.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. John's brows furrowed.

"Come in," he called. "And Grandma, if it's another sandwich, honestly I'm not –"

His words fell away.

Dripping from the rain, looking utterly bedraggled, was a figure he had not been expecting.

" _Elijah?_ "

" _Ionadh!_ "

John leapt from the chair and embraced the Irishman, his mouth and eyes wide open.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

Elijah wrapped his soaked arms around the other man and there was a chuckle – perhaps more like a cackle – from behind them. John looked over Elijah's shoulder to see his grandmother grinning widely.

"Well, you didn't want a sandwich," she said with a wink, "so I brought you something else."

John held the other man at arm's length. Elijah closed his eyes against the deluge of water that was streaming from his hair.

"I got off at the wrong station," he said in explanation. "Bloody trains."

John reached up to brush some soaked red hair out of Elijah's eyes.

"I would have paid for a cab," Jeff's voice came from the background.

Elijah turned and shrugged.

"Didn't think," he said.

Jeff rolled his eyes.

"That much is clear. Come on, Mother," he said, "we'll leave them to their hellos."

They retreated back into the living area and John ushered Elijah into the bedroom.

"You need to take a shower," he said, "otherwise you'll catch your death."

Elijah rolled his eyes but did start to strip off the top few layers of his clothing.

"All right, _Mom_ ," he said, the second word uttered in the worst approximation of an American accent John had ever heard.

Dumping the sodden clothes in the hamper, John shook his head.

"I can't believe you're here," he said.

"Your granny and your da thought you could use some more moral support," he said. "Plus, since the trial is almost over, we do have that vacation to take. It's easier to get to Ireland from England than it is from the arsehole of the South Pacific."

"Hey!" John said. "That's my home you're talking about."

"That's as well as may be," Elijah said as he peeled off his sodden t-shirt, "but it's still in the arsehole of the South Pacific."

John tried not to stare but it was an impossible task. He had seen Elijah without a shirt before, usually in the context of the pool, but that didn't mean it had become a boring sight. In spite of everything he had been through, the tension seemed to fall away from him as Elijah drew him in for another embrace.

"I'm glad you're here," John whispered, his fingers sliding over the other man's slippery back.

"I always will be," Elijah said. "And, no matter what happens tomorrow, it's still another day. _Cha d'dhùin doras nach d'fhosgail doras_."

"'No door ever closed, but another opened'," John translated. He nodded. "That's a nice way to think about it."

Elijah drew back a little, bobbing his head in agreement.

"Now that all the pleasantries are said and cheerleading is done," he said, "where the hell's the shower in this place?"

"That way," John said, pointing to the en suite. "Be my guest."

As he watched the other man retreat, John felt as though his strength had increased tenfold.

 _No door ever closed, but another opened._

Hopefully tomorrow, the door would close on the past and in its place, the door to a bright future would swing open. John wrapped his arms around himself as he heard the shower start to stream. _In some ways, I think it already has._

 **~oOo~**

 _Ionadh:_ surprise.


	36. Verdict

This was it: quite literally, judgement day.

John sat in the gallery, flanked on both sides by family and friends. Even so, he could not make his legs stop shaking. His knees bounced up and down, up and down. He shared a worried glance with Elijah, before sucking in a deep breath. _Whatever happens, happens,_ he thought.

"All rise."

There was a flurry of sound as everyone in the courtroom rose. The judge entered and sat in front of the large Royal Coat of Arms that hung on the wall behind the bench. John was glad when he was able to sit back down; he was not convinced that his legs would have supported him for much longer. He reached for Elijah's hand.

"It'll be fine," the other man whispered.

John nodded, then focused his attention on Molloy, who was about to give his closing speech. The man gave a thorough recap of the proceedings, and revealed a lot of information that John had not known, for so much of the prosecution's case had been stated before he had been allowed into the courtroom.

"This has been a long and complicated case," Molloy said, drawing to the conclusion of his statement. "Members of the jury, you have heard weeks' worth of testimony. The defence would have you believe that Ms Thomas is guiltless because of her mental state. However, in the case of the murders, let me remind you of the definition of not guilty by reason of diminished responsibility.

"Section 2 of the Homicide Act 1957 states that, 'Where a person kills or is party to a killing of another, he shall not be convicted of murder if he was suffering from an abnormality of mental functioning which - (a) arose from a medical condition; (b) substantially impaired the defendant's ability to do one or more of the things mentioned in subsection (1A); and (c) provides and explanation for the defendant's acts and omissions in doing or being a party to the killing.

"Those things in subsection 1A are defined as - (a) to understand the nature of the defendant's conduct; (b) to form a rational judgment; and (c) to exercise self-control.'"

Molloy took a breath and looked up from his papers.

"The prosecution has proven to you that, while Ms Thomas may have a medical condition that affects her mental health, that does not mean she did not understand that her conduct was wrong, not does it mean she could not think rationally or indeed exercise self-control. Ms Thomas understood fully that what she did was morally wrong. Had she not, she would not have gone to such lengths as burying the bodies on her farmland. If she had not known it was wrong, why hide it? The murders, as shown by the forensic evidence on the bodies, were not irrational crimes of passion, but rather were planned and rationalised acts. Thomas needed to silence the voices she did not like, such as her father. She also wanted to prevent her husband from having a life away from her. And then, when they were of no further use to her, she rid herself of the two men she had kept captive for her own depraved use. No doubt, had he not escaped, John Eugene Tracy would have become a fifth dead body on the farm."

Jamming his hand into his mouth was the only way John could stifle the emotion that threatened to burst from it. _Oh God, oh God…_ Elijah's arm was around his shoulders and his grandmother's hand was on his knee. _Just hold it together. Hold it together…_

"And of course, that brings us to the other charges. Ms Thomas knew that what she was doing to the men – including the nine counts of causing sexual activity without consent, done to Mr Tracy, the only survivor of her abuse – was wrong. She knew that when she bought the handcuffs used to chain her victims to the bed. She knew that when she acquired the flunitrazepam she used to control them, to make the helpless against her. She knew it when she cruised the motorways, looking for victims. She knew it when she struck them, bundled them into the boot of her car, when she chained them, drugged them, and then sexually assaulted them. She knew it every time she threatened the men, like Mr Tracy, with her fists or the baton or the gun. Or indeed, with threats of violence against her own daughter."

Tears were flooding his cheeks at this point but John managed to stay silent. _Please convict her, please convict her…_ Elijah pressed a kiss to his temple and John closed his eyes, listening to Molloy's conclusion.

"Members of the jury, Ms Thomas was fully aware of the illegality and immorality of her actions. She knew it was wrong to kill, yet she did so – four times. She knew it was wrong to kidnap, but she did so three times. She knew it was wrong to keep someone imprisoned, but again, she did so three times. And she knew, every time she laid a hand on one of the men – Ian and Marcus and John –every time she drugged them and satisfied herself on their bodies, that it. Was. _Wrong_. Were she a man, her actions would be defined as rape.

"Ms Thomas may have a medical condition that affects her mental health, but it does not affect her ability to tell right from wrong. And I hope that you can see, as has been made clear in this courtroom over the past few months, that she did understand that her actions were wrong."

With that, Molloy returned to his seat and John leaned down to place his head between his knees. Elijah rubbed his back and Grandma Tracy pressed a handkerchief into his hand. Yet through it all, John remained silent. _I will not let her hear me_ , he thought. _I will not give her that satisfaction_.

He missed most of the defence's closing statement as he tried to bring his breathing back under control. When he sat up again, Dove was nearing her conclusion.

"Members of the jury," she said, "I hope that you can now see that Ms Thomas may have committed some of the acts that she is accused of, it has not been proven beyond reasonable doubt that she understood the gravity of her actions. From childhood, she was always prone to irrational thoughts and had difficulty with attachment, with believing that people had affection for her. This, and the self-destructive behaviour she has displayed since her late teenage years – all hallmarks of her emotional intensity disorder – as well as her depression, have come together into a thick fog that has meant that she has not been able to understand the reality and the consequences of her actions. She cannot be prosecuted for actions she did not intend. So, I leave you with one final statement: reasonable doubt? Throw it out."

Disgust rose like bile in John's throat and he had to exercise every ounce of self-control he had left to prevent his mouth from spewing abuse. _She did understand_ , he thought. _She knew it was wrong. She knew all of it was wrong!_

"Now that the closing statements have been made," the judge said, "the jury must now retire to deliberate the verdict."

The judge stood, quickly followed by everyone else. The usher led the jury away. John's gaze fell on the dock, where Grace was about to be led away to the cells to await the decision.

Instead of following the guard with her head down, as she had done every other time, she looked up. Right into the gallery. Right at him.

And she _smiled._

 **~oOo~**

The wait was appalling. Despite the fact they knew it would take time – _Hell, it might take days_ , Jeff thought – it was still intolerable. The little group was waiting in a private room somewhere in the warren that was the courthouse.

Not much had been said; there wasn't much left to say. _I hope they convict her_ , Jeff thought. _They have to. With the weight of all that evidence, it shouldn't be possible to doubt her intentions._ He snuck a glance at John, who was sitting on one of the armchairs, his right foot bouncing up and down. _I don't know what he'll do if they don't send her down. I know he's said that it doesn't matter, but it does. Of course it does. It's a case of being believed or not. It's a case of knowing whether she's locked up or still free to do it all again. And what about Amelia? If they set Grace free, does that mean the poor child goes back to her mother?_

After six hours, the tinny noise of the tannoy sounded. Everyone in the room sat up.

" _In the case of Thomas vs. the Crown, the verdict will now be read in courtroom two. Courtroom two, please._ "

"The wait is finally over, it would seem," Penelope said, standing and smoothing the front of her dress."

Jeff nodded and stood, holding out a hand to his son. John accepted it and allowed his father to pull him to his feet.

"No matter what, we're all here for you," he said.

John nodded, though said nothing.

 **~oOo~**

They made their way back to the public gallery and awaited the appearance of the judge, then the jury. John's brow had broken out into a sweat again and he reached up to wipe it. _Calm down, Tracy_ , he thought. He looked down at the top of Grace's head. She didn't seem to be sweating. He wished that he could see her face.

Elijah squeezed his hand as the jury settled down and the judge turned to them.

"Members of the jury," she said. "Will your spokesperson please rise?"

One of the jurors, a man in his mid-fifties with a balding head, stood up. There was a piece of paper in his hand. _That paper is it. That paper holds the decision._ John's heart was like a runaway train, hammering in his chest with an intensity he had never felt before. _Oh, God…_

"Have you reached a verdict in respect of the accused, Grace Stephanie Thomas?" the judge asked.

"The jury has reached a verdict, Your Honour."

"What is your verdict in respect of the charges in the indictment?"

John swallowed hard and leaned forward. This was it…

The jury foreman looked down at the sheet. John could hear it crinkling between his fingers.

"Murder, all counts: guilty."

Throughout the gallery, there was a wave of silent celebration. John found himself enveloped in embracing arms from all sides. _She's going to jail,_ he thought. _She's going to go away for a long, long time!_ When he freed himself, gasping for air, he caught the eye of some of the others who had gathered there. Some of them, he knew, were relatives of Ian and Marcus. Some were relatives of Grace. _And Amelia_. There were tears and smiling faces, punches in the air – a few were even blessing themselves and looking to the roof.

John looked down. Grace had not moved an inch.

Ignoring all of the noiseless victory, the judge continued the proceedings.

"Is that verdict unanimous or by majority?"

"Unanimous." The foreman looked down at the paper again. "Kidnapping, three counts: guilty by majority vote. False imprisonment, three counts: guilty by majority vote."

Guilty. Guilty. _Guilty_.

Then the final verdict was read. As far as John was concerned, this was the most important of them all.

"Causing sexual activity without consent, nine counts."

Blood was thundering in his ears. _Please, please, please…_

"Guilty by majority vote."

This time, John was surrounded by even more people. Some of the others in the gallery piled over to him, clapping him on the shoulder, touching his head. In that moment, he realised what he had become. He wasn't just a victim.

He was the person who had brought them justice for their lost loved ones.

"Good for you, son," Jeff said, pressing his forehead to John's. "Good for you. That's it. It's over."

"I know, Dad. I know. Thank God…"

The celebration was noisier this time and the judge threatened to clear the gallery. At that, everyone returned to their seats but the buzz of excitement would not abate. John looked down again. Grace had still not moved.

That was, until the judge nodded and then turned her attention to her.

"Grace Stephanie Thomas, would you please stand?"

Her movements careful, Grace rose from her seat, although her whole body was shaking.

"You have been found guilty of four counts of murder, three counts of kidnapping, three counts of false imprisonment and nine counts of causing sexual activity without consent. Though it has been shown that you have had a difficult life, and that you suffer from a mental health condition, the jury have been satistifed that this did not hinder your ability to tell right from wrong. Due to the shocking and wicked nature of your crimes, we will reconvene at a later date for sentencing. Not only have you destroyed your own life, but you have taken the lives of four others, and no doubt your actions will have life-altering consequences not only for your daughter Amelia and Mr Tracy – survivors of your abuse – but also likely on your other daughter, born from said abuse." The judge paused for breath and leaned forward. "I believe that you are a danger to society and I cannot foresee you having the opportunity to offend again." She sat back. Then she addressed the jury. "Members of the jury, you have dispatched your duty as jurors – one of the most important roles in our society – and I thank you for your service. You are now free to leave. Good day." With that, the jurors began to rise and the usher led them away. The judge stood and the call for 'all rise' was made. "The court will reconvene in four weeks for sentencing. Take the prisoner away."

John watched as Grace turned around to follow the guards. Once again, her eyes travelled up to the gallery. This time, she was not smiling.

This time she was snarling.

John remained impassive and simply folded his arms. As the guard placed a hand on her shoulder to push her along, the reality of the situation seemed to fall upon her. Tears began to stream down her face and she craned her neck to look at him until she disappeared from view.

He fell back down into the seat. It was done. It was over. Elijah sat down beside him; John leaned in to embrace him.

"No door ever closed, but another opened," he whispered.

 **~oOo~**

Nothing stays the same forever. Rock erodes. Stars die. Change is inevitable, painful, brutal. But change isn't always a bad thing. After all, without it we would never see the splendour of a sunrise or the beauty of a sunset.

Or the miracle of butterflies.


	37. Epilogue

Even in May, the wind was fierce on the Donegal coast. John was glad for the coat he had brought. Elijah had warned him, of course, but he hadn't expected it to be _this_ bad.

"Does the weather ever get better?" he asked, linking his arm into the crook of the other man's.

Elijah chuckled, keeping his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket.

"Sometimes," he said. "But remember, this is the west coast. We're on the cusp of the Atlantic." He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, exhaling at length. "Aah," he said. "Smells like home."

"Smells like seaweed," John said.

That earned him a poke in the ribs.

They were standing on a rocky shoreline, somewhere between Maghery and the end of the world, as far as John could see. It was barren, it was grey – and yet at the same time it was _alive_.

Wind-whipped and red-cheeked, Elijah looked contented as he stood at the edge of his homeland.

"Do you miss it?" John asked, raising his voice above the noise of the wind.

Elijah gave his trademark shrug.

"Sometimes," he said. "Though sometimes it reminds me more of the bad times than the good."

John pulled both of Elijah's hands from his pockets and turned him around. They were facing one another, little spots of rain landing on their faces.

"Well, let's make some positive memories," he said, leaning in for a kiss. When they parted, Elijah was grinning. John knew he could make him grin even more. "Eli, thank you for sticking by me through everything." Elijah tried to wave the compliment off but John would not allow it. "No, really. _Thank you_. You have no idea what it's meant to me… What you mean to me." He paused, not quite believing the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "Eli, I love you."

The wind was taken out of Elijah's sails with that. His expression shifted from shock to disbelief, and then to tentative joy. John grasped his chin lightly to make him keep his gaze.

"I really do," he said.

Elijah gave him a wobbly smile and pulled him in for another kiss.

"I love you too, Johnny," he said. Then he pulled back and laughed. "You had me worried for a second there," he said. "For a minute, I thought you were going to ask me to marry you!"

John shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Jumping the gun a bit there, aren't you?" he said. "And anyway, I forgot to tell you – Alan and Tin-Tin have finally set a date."

Elijah crossed himself and looked to the sky.

"May God preserve her," he said.

John smacked at Elijah's hands but couldn't stop himself from grinning.

"Stop that," he said. "But, at least now we can 'go' together – though as far as I know they're planning to have the ceremony on the island."

"So we won't be a couple of single loners crying into our drinks," Elijah said. "There are a lot of them on the island already."

John was about to chide him again but instead conceded.

"True. Although, if they invite Amelia and Georgie, I can think of a certain artistic brother who might not stay single for long…"

Elijah looked as though he was trying to figure something out – something so complicated it made his eyes cross.

"So, Virgil would be Amelia's stepfather, but your daughter would be Amelia's half-sister and her mother would also be her cousin? What does that leave me?"

John shook his head.

"Confused," he said. "Again with jumping the gun." He looped his arm in Elijah's again and motioned for him to walk. "Come on. All this fresh air is giving me an appetite."

"Then it's time for a chip on the beach."

John frowned.

"English, man," he said.

Elijah responded in his horrific American accent.

"We're going to eat fries on the big sandy thing up the road," he said.

The sound was like nails on a blackboard and yet, John thought as they turned from the rocky shore and headed for the path, at the same time it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.

So much had happened. So much had changed. And, now that he was emerging from the darkness to plant himself in the light, it didn't seem so bad.

From the depths of his mind, a quote from a high school philosophy class echoed against the wind. He grinned.

As Aristotle said, 'Change, in all things, is sweet.'


End file.
